


The Middle

by BRobeast



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-02 13:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BRobeast/pseuds/BRobeast
Summary: Takashi Shirogane meets Matthew Holt in a Galaxy Garrison Recruiting Office. As new (and more dangerous) challenges present themselves their dynamic begins to change.





	1. Chapter 1: Bootcamp

Takashi Shirogane could feel the weight of his uniform sitting heavy against his forearms while they waited for their Recruit Division Commanders to give the order to move onto the next step. His eyes poured over the fabric in his arms- this was the weight of purpose. It’s felt more substantial than four sets of pants and blouses. He could feel the swell in his chest; Pride. That’s what that swell was and it fizzed like he’d swallowed those Pepsi Pep-seed candies without chewing. It was this odd mix of heartburn and sweet bubbles, minuscule, rumbling, pops in his gut. 

The Garrison. He’d made it...well sort of. He was close to making it. He would make it because Takashi had never been much of a quitter- too much pride for that. 

The Future Cadet Officers back home had already run down how the first month and a half at The Garrison was run. It was highly structured, with an RDC breathing down your neck every waking minute. Officer Wagner and Benson tried to shake him at first, reminiscing about how they shaved their heads (they didn’t) and how they would IT them until kids in their division cried (they did). Takashi wasn’t very attached to the mop of hair on his head at the time- it was just hair. IT-ing, which they later explained meant “Intense Training”, just sounded like a free physical trainer to him. Takashi wasn’t sure why they thought that was going to scare him off when he’d already taken their mock PRT (Physical Readiness Test). Maybe that was just protocol to try and scare off civilians who weren’t cut out for it. Takashi wouldn’t want people that attached to their hair or that afraid of some exercise keeping their planet safe or spelunking into uncharted corners of outer space either- couldn’t blame them for trying. 

So far it had been about what he expected from what they had told him. The first day, however, no one ever touched on and that was a real system shock. Takashi didn’t find himself feeling particularly strong about most civilian niceties. He did, however, really like his sleep. He was in bed at eight almost his entire life and up at six. Those hours in between were his. Too many times he’d be out with friends late after school to go see a movie or something and there he’d be- dozing off in his chair. His body had been trained far too well from his mother being very particular that he get enough sleep and then him, on his own accord, deciding that being tired wasn’t a great feeling.

That first day had been the real test. 

-

He remembered riding the bus from the MEPS station he and Matt Holt had sworn in at with a stomach full of butterflies and anxieties. He remembered pulling up to the airport with a handful of other recruits, playing Uno in their terminal, and the long conversation about how Matt was grateful that Takashi held off on the recruitment process for an extra year so that he and Matt could go together. Then the much lighter conversation about how Matt had figured out how to get text coded into Live Photos and tweak the timing which was absolutely going to take screwing with people over CloudSpace to a whole new level. He remembered, somewhere along the way, his friend falling asleep with his temple pressed into the curve of Takashi’s shoulder and the abysmal sound of his nostril whistling with every breath in. Matt barely slept, which was why he napped, and airplane air screwed with his sinuses. He remembered laughing to himself, wondering how his friend was going to hold up on a ship, with recycled air, for months with a nose like that. 

The plane touched down and their group was met with a junior officer at the mouth of the gate. She already had another group of recruits with her, all holding the study guides their recruiters had handed out once you started to process. All of them with white knuckles and worried faces. He remembered feeling Matt tense up beside him, the reality of how serious their future was looking must not have sunk in until he found himself faced with a wall of kids who were collectively losing it. How long had that group been there waiting..?

They all followed behind the Junior Officer talking amongst themselves in quiet whispers. Smaller groups breaking off into temporary social circles as they all found recruits they had commonalities with. Lunch was interesting...they were given vouchers for food at the airport and as they piled in the vendors all seemed annoyed- minus a handful of people who seemed genuinely excited for them and the adventure they were going on. 

Matt found a girl that was getting rated as an engineer (or wanted to be rated as an engineer because no one told them yet that your rate could change in the first month). The two of them babbled on about things Shiro only half understood, but he was thankful for a pocket of time where he could feel out what was going on in his head and wonder about what was next.

He remembered the hamburger tasted too greasy and silently hoping he wasn’t going to have to deal with the twisting stress in his stomach along with actual stomach issues. He’d put the hamburger down halfway through, not wanting to test his luck. Matt looked worried, his eyes shifting from the discarded burger to Takashi, to the girl sitting across from them. She looked equally worried- it was a weird sort of kinship where they were all into something new together. Takashi knew it was genuine, but he wouldn’t explain himself as thoroughly to her as he would to Matt. 

“Nerves,” he’d explained, “I don’t think I’m that hungry.”

He remembered the way Matt laughed when he explained he wasn’t in the mood to literally shit himself while metaphorically shitting himself as the two of them stepped into the bus that lead out to the desert. 

So far everything seemed a lot more laid back than either one of them was expecting. That was until the bus slowly crept to a stop and the hiss of the door’s hydraulics sounded. 

A Senior Officer stepped up onto the bus. He was much older than their Junior Officer who had risen from her seat with a “Sir!” before departing the bus. It felt a lot like being abandoned and left with a mean baby sitter. The Senior Officer was clean shaven with his salt and pepper hair slicked back in an immaculate fashion. His uniform was pressed and sharp looking and the amount of warfare ribbons he sported made Takashi’s breath catch. He knew space, as a frontier, hadn’t been without childish turf wars, but sometimes those were so far removed (both on an information sense and a physical sense) that you tended to forget. It was hard to conceptualize a war you couldn’t see and knew next to nothing about.

“ALRIGHT RECRUITS!,” he shouted, half to allow the back of the bus to hear, the other half to snap them into the mindset they’d need to get used to for the next month, “HERE IS HOW IT GOES. YOU ARE GETTING OFF THIS BUS AND FORMING A SINGLE FILE LINE INSIDE THOSE GLASS DOORS BEHIND ME. IF YOU HAVE A PHONE; CALL YOUR PARENTS TO LET THEM KNOW YOU MADE IT. IF YOU DO NOT HAVE A PHONE; ASK ONE OF YOUR SHIPMATES. POWER IT DOWN AND KEEP IT IN YOUR POCKET UNTIL PROCESSING. IF WE CATCH YOU WITH THAT PHONE OUT OF YOUR POCKET YOU ARE GOING HOME.”

He remembered feeling Matt’s eyes watch his face, but this was all just a game and they would win. He wanted Matt to remember that, but with the cold stare of that Senior Officer sweeping the bus he didn’t want to risk speaking. Mr.Holt, Matt’s dad, was a scientist that had worked on missions with these type of men before, but he hadn’t the slightest idea on how these men were made outside of the stories they shared among each other over food. Mr. Holt also had the mentality that he could fiddle with the rules those kind of individuals set because he hadn’t been brainwashed into following orders at the Garrison boot camp. He thought Matt was scared, or nervous, but when he chanced a glance out of the corner of his eye his scruffy friend looked amused. He realized that maybe he was the scared one and he’d just been projecting...

The Senior Officer stepped off the bus.

“Geez, that guy’s got to have hyper tension issues.” Matt joked, leaning to get a good look out of the large panel window of the bus. He seemed so relaxed. How was anyone relaxed right now?

“We’re going to be alright, Matt.” 

“We’re going to be fine, dude,” Matt smiled, looking back at Takashi,”these guys are just normal people in uniforms. Probably have families back home and tuck their kids in at night and stuff. The screaming is a bit unnecessary, but I guess loud is scary now?”

Takashi laughed quietly, looking over Matt’s shoulder to the pristine building perched in the middle of the desert like some sort of futuristic oasis. It was sharp corners and plain colors. The windows were dark, black, and pristine even in the red dust. They tended to switch back and forth between who had it together and who was fumbling through whatever it was they found themselves stuck in. Nobody was always alright or always a mess- their friendship had always allowed them to be weak without judgement and strong without the expectation that they should always be that way. Takashi could feel a cold pit in his stomach as he let his eyes drift over one of the large satellites sprouting from the desert floor like a daffodil. 

“It’s a game, man.” Matt’s voice pulled him out of his mental tailspin.  
“Keep your head down and get through it.”  
“Exactly. And there are always loopholes.”  
“Man, aren’t you supposed to be the good kid?”  
“Excuse me? I [i]am[/i] the good kid.”  
“Oh right, sure.”  
“Yeah, real sure. I will continue to be the good kid because Holts are loophole lords.”  
“...yeah, can’t argue with that…”  
“It runs in our blood, dude. Papa Holt passing on his ways to the baby Holts- and so on ,and so on.”  
“....geez”  
“You? You are such a stickler for rules. Perfect for this place, but you’re going to give yourself a freaking coronary trying to do all of this mess to the T.”  
“I know, I know.”  
“Breathe, man. We’re player one and player two…”  
“And this is a game…”  
“Let’s just get through the tutorial in one piece. Alright?”  
“Yeah, alright. We got this.”  
“Always.”  
“Al-“  
“GET OFF THE FUCKING BUS! LETS GO RECRUITS. GO! GO! GO!”

They all shot straight up onto their feet. Matt had nearly jumped out of his seat and offered an embarrassed smile to Takashi before he had to run his way off the bus. Matt followed suit. Everyone managed to call their parents, Takashi didn’t bring any personal effects because their recruiters had told him not to and he borrowed Matt’s watch. Matt had his watch because back in their recruiters’ office he confidently declared; “If I get in trouble somewhere between MEPS and that base I’ll have no way to let anyone know. And furthermore: if I send it home for boot camp how am I going to call anyone when I graduate? So, they can pry this watch from my cold, dead, hands.”

Takashi thought he was insane. 

They were lined up single file in the hallway and the Senior Officer read off a name, followed by an identification number, and if it was you- you nodded. That was how it worked. From that line they were ushered into a large room down the hallway. 

He remembered the room was all white painted cinder block walls and plain linoleum tile that was just a shade closer to cream than everything else. Desks, almost a hundred of them all sat at the center, lined up perfectly, and half were already occupied by other recruits. Some of them looked bright eyed and ready to go, while others had their heads down on the desk tops. Takashi looked around watching a group of kids standing on a grid with numbers on the floor. Every now and then the Senior Officer standing at the head of the grid would shout out the last three of someone’s identification number and send them to the next station. He could see Matt looking over the tired looking recruits with a look that said he knew all too well how that felt. Takashi didn’t, but he was starting to get the feeling he would soon as he looked over to the clock on the far wall. He’d been up at five that morning before MEPS and after everything it was now creeping closer to ten at night. 

Even worse was it didn’t look like they were anywhere close to done. 

“TAKE A SEAT,” The senior officer was back to speaking again, but he lowered his voice to normal decibels for the next part,”all of you are going to move on to urinalysis. If you head over, and you are not ready, you will be taking a long drink from that water fountain over there and walking the parameter of this room until you are. Females you will be using the head on the left side and males you are using the head on the right. I’m going to check in this group. I’ll give the go ahead when it's time to get up. Until then get some sleep.”

The Senior Officer nodded his head towards to other recruits that had been sitting with their heads on their desks, before he started to make his way back to where the male and females heads were- more than likely checking in with whoever was in charge at those stations. Takashi watched him go, silently looking over his shoulder as the officer left for the back of the large room.

“Glad I napped on the airplane,” it was a quiet whisper from his left, “you tired? It’s past your bedtime.”

He knew it was Matt before he ducked his head down to rest on his forearms, shooting Matt a look.

“Very funny.”  
“I tend to be pretty hilarious. Nice to know someone notices.”  
“I’m tired. I didn’t get to nap because some old man was snoring in my ear.”  
“N-“  
“NO ONE TOLD YOU YOU CAN TALK RECRUITS!” It was another Junior Officer perched at the front of the group of desks like a watchdog. Takashi couldn’t help, but wonder why...people must have started to get cold feet and used take off at this point.

Matt jumped, snapping his head back down, but Takashi could hear him giggling into the cave his arms made crossed on the desk. Takashi snapped his head back into his arms and despite all of the stress rummaging through his system he quietly laughed into his own arms.

Neither of them got any sleep on the desks. In fact, Takashi was pretty sure that no one around them got any real sleep. There was too much yelling; another bus of recruits pulled in, the group of recruits before them left. Urinalysis was exceedingly uncomfortable and strange. It wasn’t like he’d never used the bathroom with someone beside him or anything like that it was just that...well...he’d never tried to use the bathroom with someone actually watching him pee into a cup. There was a second or two where he had pushed, but nothing came out and he was terrified it was going to be one of those things. Some people just couldn’t do it with someone watching them like that- he could see why. Thankfully he could feel something give and he breathed a sigh of relief into the white tile wall in front of him. Matt looked uncomfortable as he sat back down in the desk next to Takashi.

“Ugh,” Matt sighed.  
“Yeah,” Takashi replied quietly, knowing all too well what his friend meant. 

A Senior Officer, quilter than the rest they had seen so far, made her way down the line of the desks with papers. She handed one to each recruit as she passed. When she got to Takashi and Matt she handed him a paper with an easy motion, before turning to hand Matt his own.

“What is this for?” Matt asked, looking over the format.

Takashi raised an eyebrow, looking over his own paper. It seemed off that they would be getting these now, or at all really. It was structured for lists. The first was languages you spoke and the second below that was musical abilities. Instruments, voice training...that seemed out of place.

“It’s so we can pick your divisions,” she explained calmly, it was odd feeling like a human being again for a moment,”...there are Flags and Band divisions besides the normal variations.”

Matt ‘hmm’ed and nodded, holding his paper up and looking it over. He didn’t play an instrument- or at least Takashi didn’t think so. They had only met a few months ago in the recruitment office when there was a PT day. They were close, but not in any real way where they knew of things about each other outside of their journey to become cadets. 

A second officer followed up with pens.

Matt wrote something down and Takashi blinked, looking down at his own paper. 

[i]Trumpet[/i] he scribbled down, before filling in the last three of his identification number on the provided line.

A third officer stepped through and picked up the papers. 

He remembered sitting in silence with Matt only an isle’s width away and the sinking feeling that whatever they had written on their papers was going to bring an end to them moving forward through this together. 

He was right.

A fourth officer stepped through and Takashi could remember seeing the hands on the clock over his shoulder creeping dangerously close to two in the morning by that time. This entire process had been a lot of hurry up and wait. The desks were too uncomfortable for any real sort of sleep and Takashi could feel his resolve burning up into a tired haze. 

“3p2. Flags.” The fourth officer said plainly, before pointing with the pen on his clipboard to a small group of recruits gathered by the machine that assessed whether or not they were flat footed. The two of them had gone through that step at some point in the night, but it was all getting fuzzy as the hands of the clock marched on.

“Yes, sir.” Matt replied, getting up from his desk, the same weary tired starting to creep into his features. 

“1o5. Band.” The officer said just as plainly, pointing to another group of recruits gathered by the male head.

“Yes, sir.” Takashi replied, getting up from his desk with his eyes on Matt, before moving to his assigned group. 

A Junior Officer stepped up to Takashi’s group and he looked back over to Matt over by the insole machine. Matt smiled in a way that said he was trying to be encouraging, but at the same time equally disappointed that they would be going through boot camp separately. Takashi nodded, holding a thumbs up close to his chest in order to avoid getting chewed out. Matt returned it.

“Alright, recruits. I am Junior Officer Jones. I’m one of your three RDCs. You’ll be joining Division 936. The rest of this division is a week in. You’re going to get your PT gear (gonna have to wait on your uniforms until later) and then go to medical.” 

He was tall, pushing 6’4 if Takashi was eyeballing it right, and his dark skin set in a striking contrast to the grays of his uniform. On Jones’ left arm he had a cluster of olive drab colored belts and clipped onto the sides of each one was a canteen. It made sense, they were in a desert, and with all of these people in one building the water fountains would have been overpopulated. 

“These are your belts. These are your canteens. Stay hydrated or you’re going to be fucked. You wear these belts all the time, everywhere. Medical is long and shitty. Do not fucking fall asleep recruits. I need you-“ he cut himself off, starting to move them around until they formed a four by four square, “like this. Y’all can’t march yet, but don’t trip on eachother. Got it?”

“Yessir.” Came the unanimous reply. 

-

He remembered some things from the rest of that morning. Most of it was uneventful waiting and trying his best not to fall asleep on his feet. It didn’t help that their PT gear was surpassingly comfortable. It was a light, fleece lined, orange and cream tracksuit. They had separated males from females, piled them into a room, had them pick their sizes like an assembly line, and the group of males changed at their spots in front of the high counter tops. After that it was shoes. You picked your size, tried them on, and filed out. The last step was to box up your civilian things; clothes, phones, watches, jewelry, some people had brought entire backpacks. Takashi silently wondered if Matt would have his watch packed up or if he was managing some of his infamous loophole-ing. They scribbled their addresses onto the taped up boxes and move on to medical. 

Medical woke him up. They lined each of them up and sent them down a hallway after they all managed to drowsily sign off of a handful of sheets that at that point no one was cognitive enough to really care. This was a round of immunizations and the girl in line in front of him was panicking about her fear of needles. Takashi was too tired to care. He sighed as she stepped through. Two shots at a time, one in both arm. Another round. A third round. After the third round they were sent into rooms divided by sex. 

Takashi stepped through and the first round wasn’t half bad. The second was a little sore. The third round he yelped as the needle in his right arm pressed through. He didn’t know what the Junior Officer on his right side hit, but it was not in the same spot that every other officer managed to hit. He curled his fingers into a fist trying to keep the exasperate sigh in just long enough to get out of earshot. Takashi stepped into the room set up for the males and quietly watched the rest of his division members rubbing at their arms with frowns. He felt his own hand shift up to squeeze at his right deltoid, rubbing at the tiny knots left by the needles. They all stood there in silence, waiting for whatever Officer was bound to join them and give them directions for what was next. 

He’d closed his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest despite the horrible ache in his muscles, and let his head fall back against the wall. It was unreal how good that felt. He missed his bed like it was a lover. 

“TIRED RECRUITS!?”

Geez, why did they all have to scream?

Takashi opened his eyes that were far to lazy to listen right away.

“No worries,” the officer laughed to himself, waiting for four other officers to step into the room, followed by one holding a metal tray, “these will wake you up.”

Takashi looked to the five officers in front of him, his sluggish mind slowly doing the math that for each recruit there was a Junior Officer. For each Junior Officer there was a syringe on the metal tray.

“This is Penicillin. Do any of you have an allergy to Penicillin?”  
“No sir.” Unanimous reply.  
“Good. You shouldn’t ‘cause that’s what your papers say.”

…Penicillin…

“We’re going to have you drop your PT pant just low enough that we can administer the Penicillin. Some things to remember,” each of them took a hold of a syringe from the metal tray and Takashi could feel the muscles along his back tighten up, “this will hurt. You’re going to have a baseball sized bump sticking out of your ass cheek. We all got it. You’ll live. However, if any of you start feeling tight in the chest, dizzy, itching- anything that seems weird let your RDC know. Line up.”

The pain radiating for the pinprick in the meat of his backside had been the most intense burning sensation he had ever experienced. He felt his eyes water despite himself and one of his fellow recruits to his left let out an audible yelp. The moment the needles were pulled out of skin the majority of them has started to push the palms of their hands into the muscle. Takashi could already feel the deep, hard, nodule forming in his muscle. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed through his nose.

He missed Matt. He couldn’t help, but feel like this would have been much easier to bare if he had been with someone he actually knew. If there were some jokes to ease the ache in his eyes, his body, his muscles. He wasn’t sure Matt would have been up to providing comic relief, but at least they’d be able to pass understanding glances.

“They could have taken us out to dinner first, amiright?” He heard himself say and the tired, weary laughs, of his fellow recruits echoed in the now vacated room. 

“Y’all tired as fuck too?” A voice echoed from the corner of the room.

They all turned to see a red headed recruit sheepishly rubbing at his assaulted arms. The group of them haven't spoken a word to each other since they set off to get their PT gear. It was like they forgot they had voices. 

“I’m exhausted.” Takashi replied, rubbing the back of his neck, “but hey after medical I think we get to our division.”

“You think we’ll make it before breakfast?” A second recruit spoke up now.

He was the tallest of the five of them with tight curls of sandy brown hair. He looked like someone had made him out of chewing gum and stretched his arms and legs just a little too far, but his face was round and soft. 

“I hope so,” All four of them replied in unison, before laughing to themselves. 

The loud squeal of the door disrupted the laughter and Junior Officer waved them to follow after him. They did, albeit with a bit of limp, all single file and silent as church mice again. Takashi felt a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips as they walked, finding himself a little more at ease that he was going through this disastrous day with some sense of comradery established. The group of them were lead into what might have been a cafeteria at some point, but now was a glorified waiting room.

A Senior Officer stepped over to their group, removed the lanky recruit, and the short, stout one that hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to open up. The redhead was lead off with another officer, rounding a corner at the far side of the large room. They waited in silence for what felt like hours, but upon checking in on a wall clock only turned out to be half an hour. It was creeping closer to five in the morning now. 

Twenty four hours.

Takashi had officially been awake for twenty four hours and a part of him mourned the lost sleep until the two recruits returned to their group, but this time each of them sported thick, tortoise shell rim glasses. Takashi felt himself start to laugh before he could stop it and the first bark of sound managed to hiss into a quiet sort of breathless wheeze. There was a black boy that for the most part stayed silent outside of hoping for food and even he seemed to be fighting with his own face to stop a wide smile from breaking free, before he had grabbed at his own stomach, quietly miming a hysterical fit of laughter.

“Yeah, yeah…” the stout recruit grumbled, “laugh it up Jackson.”

“Bro,” apparently the silent one, Jackson, had managed to get an introduction out at some point, “that is some birth control shit.”

The battle Jackson had been waging on his own facial expression finally seemed to come to end with the wide, toothy smile being the victor. He slapped his knee, leaning his back into the edge of their table behind them. 

“I feel like this is some retro throwback…” The lanky recruit, who didn’t seem all that bothered by the glasses, spoke up, “your name is Jackson?”

“Yeah, man. Well, my last name.” He shrugged, looking around them for a moment, “This isn’t half bad. Nobody is really riding us at this point.”

“Feels like I can breathe…” the stout recruit chimed in, visibly taking a breath in.

“Yeah Reinhardt, that isn’t gonna last long when they start us on that IT mess.”

“Man,” the stout recruit, Takashi now knew was named Reinhardt, groaned pushing his glasses back up his rounded face, “you and I both know I’m a beast. I just like my carbs.”

“Fair enough,” Jackson grinned, patting the seat next to him.

Takashi shifted to the side to allow the lanky recruit to have a place to sit on the bench of the “cafeteria” table. He obliged holding out his hand for Takashi.

“I’m Vinning,” he smiled as Takashi took his hand, and gave it a steady shake, “since we are doing last names.”

“Hey man,” Takashi smiled as their hands left one another and settled at their sides, “Shirogane.”

“Bruh, what?” Reinhardt leaned forward in his chair, looking at Takashi with a blonde eyebrow raised high on his forehead.

Takashi laughed awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I’m gonna botch the crap out of that...not going to lie….” Jackson said quietly, more to himself than the rest of their tiny division, “Is it cool if I just go with “Shiro”?”

“Shiro is fine,” he chimed in watching the rest of the recruits at their table relax in the shoulders a little.

“Cool.” Vinning said with a smile.

The four of them went over introductions and casual conversations on where they were from and what they were hoping to do once they made it through to The Garrison. Takashi kept finding his eyes drifting to the thick rimmed glasses of his two fellow recruits and silently laughing to himself- knowing full well that Matt was going to be issued his own “birth control glasses”. It was easier and easier to talk to one another as it started to feel comfortable sneaking in some down time when officers weren’t watching them like hawks. Eventually they fell quiet as Junior Officer Jones, the RDC for their new division, seemed to shift his way out of a sea of cream and orange towards their table. 

“Alright recruits,” he said calmly, looking around the room for a brief moment until his eyes settled on the clock, “we’re meeting the rest of 936 in the Chow Hall. Y’all are going to get some food and then we got to get you caught up on training so you’re not too far behind.”

“Yessir.” All together. 

-

Junior Officer Jones formed the four of them up, two by two, once they made it out onto the wide sidewalk that wound its way through the base. It might have been white or at the very least cleaner than it was years ago, but now it was stained in long, sweeping, streaks of iron red from the earth of the desert. Takashi took a moment realizing that it was almost beautiful, that a lot of things in this desert had an aesthetic to it. The sun was starting to pour its way through the nooks and crannies of the mesa around them, the jagged horizon line like teeth in the mouth of some burnt monster. The red dust kicked up into the air by the breeze lit up in the streaks of sunlight and he took a breath in. He found himself in an exciting, new, adventure and somewhere on the very same base Matt was stepping onto the painted sidewalk along with him. 

“We don’t need cadence, but don’t trip on each others feet.” Jones stated, not looking at the four boys formed up beside him, “Let’s go.”

Jones started his stride. Reinhardt and Jackson were the shorter two out of the four of them and they had been the front of the formation. Takashi and Vinning were taller and had their place as the second row. They didn’t need to stay in step which left some freedom to take in the area around them. The base was fairly empty minus a handful of strangling formations leaving medical. Takashi could see buildings with different flags hung in the front, every once in a while they’d whip up into a frenzy as the cold desert air still lingering was pushed up and out by the heat of morning. To his opposite side he could see the intake hall they’d all arrived at and another bus full of recruits slid into view from behind Vinning’s shoulder. 

They were led to the main structure. He recognized it from all of the information slides and the fact that it had been plastered on every sort of propaganda for The Garrison that ever left printing. This must have been where the barracks were, along with chow, and the learning centers. Jones led the four of them inside, the hiss of air conditioned whipping past them and into the air outside disappeared as the heavy metal doors slid shut behind them on the track. They fell into a single file line along the right side of the hallway Jones led them down and Takashi could see a long line of recruits in the same cream and orange tracksuits they’d been sporting since processing. There was a female Senior Officer, her hair pulled into a tight blonde bun, and a Junior Officer that couldn’t have been more than five foot tall with a high buzzcut. Jones started to slow down before turning to the four of them.

“This is your division. Head to the end of this line. You’re sticking with this group until graduation. You’re going to eat, we head back to the compartments after chow. One of the other recruits is going to help you get your bunks together on the male side.”

The four of them stood there for a moment, unsure as to if they’d been dismissed or not, until Jones rolled his eyes and held an arm towards to line of recruits against the wall. Takashi nodded and headed for the back of the line. He could hear the pads of Vinning, Jackson, and Reinhardt’s trainers behind him. Takashi kept his eyes straight feeling uneasy again as unfamiliar faces had turned their attention to him. He was glad for three people behind him. It didn’t feel like he was charging ahead into this on his own, especially with Matt off in his own division. 

“Takashi.” It was like a whisper. Since the beginning of this his identity had been the last three of his identification number, and if not that, his last name. Hearing his first name was starting to feel more like a memory.

“Dude!” It was still a whisper, but more urgent.

His eyes snapped to the side when he realized he knew that voice. It was Matt’s. His stride hit a hiccup as he fought his system from stopping like it wanted to and instead managed to hurry his way the next two people back before falling in line. 

“Matt,” he said quietly, ignoring the obnoxious shushing from one of the 936 recruits.

“I’m 935,” Matt motioned to the group of recruits lined up in front of him, he was also choosing to ignore the shushing sounds from a girl a few people up. 

Takashi smiled hoping that meant their division’s would be close enough that they’d at least get to run into each other over the next month- even if it was just at chow hall.

“Nice glasses, nerd.” He teased, quietly, from his spot in 936’s line, the pay off of having to wait to see Matt with those ridiculous looking bootcamp glasses all too worth it. 

They were smaller than the pair he normally sported, but the flaw wasn’t the size of them it was the overall style. He looked like an accountant from those old archives of pictures from way back in the 1990 to 2000s time frame. They were square and Takashi could swear the rims were as thick as his fingers with the way the weight of them seemed to push down into the meat of Matt’s cheeks.

“Thanks, your mom likes them too.” Matt grinned, placing the pads of his index fingers behind his ears, and bouncing the glasses up and down.

The two people in their respective lines turned to glare at the two of them, leaving the pair to sort of sink back into their spots against the wall.

Some amount of energy seemed to seep back into him, the buzz of their back and forth managing to prod his sluggish mind from the slow drag it kept falling into. The promise food was nothing to swing a stick at either. Takashi could feel his stomach folding in on itself between the chaos of not knowing what was going to happen next and the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything since the airport. 

“935! Let’s go recruits!”

Matt frowned and waved to Takashi, his hand below his hip in order to try and avoid getting screamed at by an RDC. Shiro return the wave the corners of his lips falling out of their easy smile and into something wilting. Matt’s division started a slow file into the chow hall at the front of the hallway. Takashi shifted, looking over the countless shoulders of recruits in his division towards where his RDCs stood. The three of them had been talking with, who Takashi could only assume were, 935’s RDCs. They looked friendly with each other which meant that they must of had a lot contact between the two divisions. He sighed to himself, letting his shoulders drop for what must have been the first time in the last twenty six hours judging by the way his muscles felt.

Almost there. 

-

Takashi quickly learned that there was no talking in the chow hall when Jackson and Reinhardt were told to stand up from their chairs so Officer Jones (who seemed much calmer earlier in the day) could get a good look at the “weak ass recruits” who were wasting time talking when they only had fifteen minutes for chow. 

Matt’s division was a table over from his division and they had a clear view of eachother, albeit over three or four heads to the left. Matt made an ‘ooooo’ shape with his mouth, silently exposing his amusement with the entire situation. Takashi shot him a look, even if “weak ass recruits” had made him nearly choke on his oatmeal. Matt rolled his eyes, pushing around whatever he had for breakfast on his tray. Takashi watched him, spooning oatmeal into his mouth while he waited for his friend to look back up at him, and when he did Takashi straightened up just enough to mime his own rendition of “weak ass recruits”. Matt’s head quickly ducked down and he pushed his forearm in front of his mouth and nose, silently choking for a moment, before lifting his head and flipping off Takashi. He motioned to his nose and Takashi knew full well he’d almost made his nostrils into a soft serve breakfast machine. Takashi laughed, or rather, motioned that he was laughing with his shoulders before moving back to eating his breakfast. Matt shook his head, with a smile on his face, and started back on his scrambled eggs. 

The two of them ate in silence, real silence, for a few minutes.

The oatmeal in his bowl had nearly been inhaled, but now Takashi found the push of his spoon slowed a bit. Finally having a chance to eat helped to take a lot of the edge off with this place, but now his major concern was trying to stay awake. A full stomach, the stillness, and the silence of the cafeteria all seemed to lend a hand into the slow, gentle, nod of his head as sleep starting to creep into his peripherals. He felt his eyes fluttering shut despite the mental mantra he’d been shouting in his head for them to stay open. The only thing that saved him was Matt seemed to stop eating as well and had been looking at him over the heads of their fellow recruits, an inquisitive look on his face. Takashi opened his eyes, shifting in his seat to try and fully wake himself up. Matt was frowning, the thick glasses on his face slipping down his cheeks. Takashi offered a tired smile, shrugging his shoulders as if to say “what can you do?”.  
Matt nodded, acknowledging there wasn’t much anyone could do. This was just the situation they found themselves in, but at least there was comfort in knowing that someone else in the room not only noticed, but empathized.

[i]You got this.[/i] Matt mouthed.  
[i]Thanks, man.[/i] Takashi mouthed.

“935! ON YOUR FEET!” It was Matt’s Junior Officer. 

She was tall, and thin- almost whispy in a way that feigned fragility, but it was easy enough to tell that she had a decent amount of muscle by the way her uniform sat on her shoulders. Her long black hair was pulled back into a tight bun, pulling the olive skin of her face back like some sort of makeshift plastic surgery. That had to give her a headache after a while…

Takashi watched at the entirety of 935 jumped straight to their feet from their chairs, trays in hand, and Matt standing trayless. He leaned forward, sandy hair slipping over the top rim of the issued glasses, taking a look at the rest of his division before snapping his tray up from the table with an awkward clatter. Matt glanced at Takashi to see if he’d caught the spectacle and of course he had.

[i]The worst.[/i] Takashi mouthed.  
[i]Shut up.[/i] Matt mouthed, but the laughter held back on his lips was evident enough. 

“LEFT OR RIGHT. FACE!” Her voice was surprisingly robust for such a thin woman.

The entire division snapped left. Takashi couldn't see what they were doing with their feet in order to manage such a seamless turn, but whatever it had been it wasn’t just your everyday turn. Matt managed to make the pivot left from his spot beside the table in time, but it was clumsy and easily spotted in comparison. Takashi could see the frustration starting to set in on his face. 

[I]You got this.[/i] he mouthed, offering a thumbs up on his table to avoid extra eyes.

Matt nodded with resolve, adjusting his hands on his tray.

“FALL OUT!”

The recruits at the end of the table started to leave, heading straight for a square cut out in the wall at the front of the cafeteria. Takashi watched them, starting to move onto the eggs on his plate, and he could see Matt pause as he reached the cut out where everyone was dropping off their plates. Something caught his interest. He could see the way Matt’s shoulders jumped towards his ears as he leaned his head into the cut out ever so slightly. He was talking, Takashi could see his lips moving, but not in any way that would allow him to guess at what (or who) his friend had been so excited over. 

“MOVE RECRUIT! SINGLE FILE LINE AND NO TALKING!”

Matt jumped, startled by the abrupt reminder that they were still in boot camp, and scurried out of the door. Each time he tried to apologize his RDCs would just reply with “NO TALKING RECRUIT!”. 

The yelling at this point was beginning to seem ridiculous. The idea that this was all just a head game they played in order to weed out the people that either couldn’t adjust or weren’t mentally prepared enough to play the game had started to shift into full effect. Matt would be fine, he was the king of finding ways around things and keeping out of trouble. Takashi would be fine because he was good at playing the game. They were going to do this. The next steps after this was graduating as Cadets, moving onto the real Garrison, and from there it was space and everything they’d been dreaming about since they’d met in the recruitment office. 

“936! ON YOUR FEET!” This time it was the voice of Takashi’s female RDC, the Senior Officer.

Takashi had a general idea of the steps to follow thanks to Matt’s division lighting the way for him. He pushed up out of his chair and lifted his tray from the table.

“LEFT OR RIGHT. FACE!”

He watched the feet of the recruit in front of him, following along as best he could in real time. Takashi let his right foot slide just behind his left with the toe of his trainer pressed into the linoleum tile that seemed to have followed him all the way from processing. There was a twist, the heel of his right foot coming down to the floor, and his left foot sliding into position with both heels touching. He could feel his eyebrows lift as he stared down at his feet through the gap between his chest and tray.

“FALL OUT!”

Just as Matt had done before him Takashi followed the line of recruits in front of him, leading himself to the cut out in the wall that Matt had seemed so interested in. He slowed his stride, trying to get a good look inside without being obvious enough to get shouted at. The recruit in front of him dropped her tray on the metal ledge of the cut out and a gloved hand snapped forward to pick it up. Takashi raised an eyebrow stepping fully in front of the cutout as he placed his tray down.

Inside there were belts, dragging the sorted utensils, plates, bowls, and trays off to be washed in this immense machine that he could only assume was some kind of dishwasher. The gloved hand snapped forward, taking the tray from in front of him. He looked up meeting the bored gaze of a girl who had been wearing a rubber smock, her brown hair tucked up into a hair net, and a pair of blue latex gloves. He watched he sort the tray, bowl, plate, and the spoon Takashi had been using onto separate belts, before boredly reaching for the tray that clattered down behind him.

There wasn’t anything he could see that was worth Matt nearly climbing through the window for, unless he had been trying to get a better look at the machine pushing up steam into the sorting room. He must have been talking to the girl about something. Takashi opened his mouth to ask her about what they were talking about when he heard Vinning behind him.

“Shiro, come on man we’re going to get yelled at.”  
“Uh- oh right. Sorry.” He offered an apologetic nod over his shoulder, stepping out into the hallway, following after the recruit that had been in beside him at breakfast. 

Takashi wasn’t sure what could have been going on in Matt’s head about that room. He would have to ask him. How he would manage to do that when talking seemed to be off limits was another problem in and of itself. He sighed, idly watching the faces of tired recruits from other divisions in the building passing him by as he made his way to a door that he’d seen the rest of his division disappear into. His shoulder hit the edge of the door with a quiet thump and as he pushed into the stairwell he could feel the air pressure shift.

“Hey, did you see how jacked that system was?”

Takashi nearly threw himself on the floor he’d been so surprised to hear another voice in the stairwell with him. It didn’t help that it had come from behind him, mid step of all times. He looked over his shoulder, his fingers grasped around the banister so hard they were bone white in the knuckles. It was a familiar pair of eyes, tucked behind too thick glasses, and the brush of sandy brown hair.

“M-Matt? What the hell man?!”

“Keep walking. I’m just gonna follow behind like we’re in the same division. I dunno if there’s RDCs up there.”

“Oh, right.” Takashi nodded, continuing a slow climb up the flight of stairs, trying to keep an eye on exactly where the rest of his division was heading. It was at least the third floor.

“Anyway, I don’t understand how the best and brightest haven’t figured out a way to completely automate that system.” Matt continued on quietly, his soft footfalls on the a step or two away from Takashi.

“Seemed like it was doing alright to me.”

“What? They girl doesn’t even need to be in there. At the very least they could just use a shoot system where we sort our own stuff. And that’s a [i]caveman[/i] level solution.”

“Wow, you really were thinking about a way to organize dirty dishes?”

They hit the landing for the second floor and Takashi felt himself slow down, trying to buy them some more time without being too conspicuous. 

“This is might just be boot camp, but it's part of The Garrison. Man, if they can’t even figure out how to make a better system for washing dishes? I’m worried about our future as a planet.”

Takashi laughed to himself, finding that the third floor landing was coming far too quickly.

“I’m telling you,” Matt continued, clearly getting heated up over the whole affair, “if they let me in there for five minutes I’d have something way more effective. I mean, they could at least color code- just saying.”

“Aaaand there it goes.”

“You can make all the jokes you want, man. I’m telling you organization is key to success and color coding is the key to organization.”

“I’m going to miss your rants in this place.” Takashi laughed, pausing as his hand hit the door handle for the third floor hallway.

“Miss them? We’ll figure out a way. Like this isn’t half bad...as long as...I can figure out where my division went.” Matt laughed, nodding his head towards the door.

“Here? What in the stairwell?” Takashi’s hand slipped from the door handle and he turned to fully face Matt since he’d entered the stairwell. 

“Yeah! C’mon it’s a good middle ground. No RDCs, chow hall at the same time, and we steal a good minute or two from the system.”

Matt smiled, shrugging his shoulders like it wasn’t something he was entirely committed to, even if his eyes betrayed how much he wanted Takashi to agree to “Matt Holt Screws The System” terms and services. 

He looked at his friends face for a moment in silence. They were joking around, but the sleep deprivation was clearly starting to wage its war on Matt. His eyes were a soft pink, straining to keep themselves open, and the usual, lively, color behind his freckles was now dull. Takashi couldn’t image he looked any better and the way Matt’s eyes kept wandering only seemed to punctuate that sentiment. 

“Yeah...yeah, you’re right. This was pretty smart.” Takashi smiled, shifting now to pull the door open, “we can just find ways to meet in the middle.”

“Exactly. What The Garrison doesn’t know won’t hurt them.” Matt sounded pleased with himself, even as the air from the third floor hallway rushed into the stairwell when Takashi pulled the door open.


	2. Réveille

The rest of the day Takashi spent following Junior Officer Jones around, along with Vinning, Jackson, and Reinhardt in an attempt to get them caught up to speed. They’d been led to the Garrison Exchange and walked through a list of the things they were allowed to get; Toiletries. 

It was a very extensive list. 

They were later given paper bagged lunches and sent back to the male compartment for 936. The four of them sat cross legged on the floor of the male compartment when the rest of the division went off for training and meticulously stamped their last names and division number on every item of clothing they’d been issued. By the time the four of them had learned the proper way to fold their clothes, and they folded _everything_ , the division was back and getting ready for afternoon chow.

The once quiet space, lined with hefty, gray, bunk beds picked up into a frenzy of sound. The squeak of uniform boots against the plain, white, linoleum sounded like a flock of birds. There were some recruits who headed straight for the bathroom and others who had set to rummaging in the storage compartment beneath their mattress. Takashi placed the last pair of issued briefs in its designated spot beneath his bunk and stood up, watching his fellow recruits caught up in their established routine. Jackson was shuffling items about in the bunk above Takashi’s, grumbling about the way his undershirts wouldn’t line up properly.

The idea of chow hall seemed to put a sense of ease in Takashi’s chest. It was the clear cut sign that the day was coming to an end. Martinez, the recruit who had let Takashi know which bunks were available for the four of them to take, had told them the typical structure of the day. He’d said the good news was that after evening chow they didn’t get IT’d unless someone really screwed up. They usually just came back, gathered up laundry, wrote their letters, and turned the lights out. Lights out sounded amazing- he could feel his eyes already wilting in anticipation. His entire body seemed to heave a heavy sigh of relief at the idea of sleep fast approaching. 

Another bustling of squeaking boots pulled him out of his satiated lull, recruits all moving to stand at the foot of their bunks, shoulder to shoulder. Jackson and Takashi exchanged looks and shrugged before stepping around to the foot of their bunk. They stood shoulder to shoulder, casting glances over to Vinning and Reinhardt across the floor from them. They looked equally confused. 

Martinez had jogged his way out of the bathroom, half sliding into his spot at the foot of the bunk beside Jackson and Takashi. He sighed, apparently glad he’d made it in time for whatever was next, before trying to blow stray strands of hair out of his eyes. He had thick, dark brown, hair that was pulled up into a neat knot at the back of his head. His bangs, however, were still too short and would fall forward into his eyes. Takashi watched him- until Martinez abruptly turned to him with a smile.

“Line up for chow hall.” He explained, more than likely catching the confused expression in Takashi’s face.

“Oooh,” came Jackson and Takashi’s unified reply.

Jackson turned forward again, nodding his chin up to get Reinhardt’s attention, before mouthing “Chow.”

“Oooh,” came Vinning and Reinhardt’s reply.

The door that led into the hallway slid open with a quiet hiss. Takashi could feel the compartment holding their breath.

“ATTEN-TION!” the voice of their division’s Senior Office echoed through the compartment- high, sharp, and shrill.

The singular shift of clothing made one thunderous sort of “whumpf” as they all snapped into an upright stance, heels together, fists at their sides.

“Form a height line.” She continued on, quieter now as she stepped around the bunks that sat at the mouth of the exit. 

Takashi had seen her earlier that morning, but it had been quick and in passing. He could see now that she had tired eyes, but that somehow never managed to translate to the rest of her face- her lips set in a sharp line and her brows lifted high.

The rest of their compartment started to shift and, tentatively, so did Jackson and Takashi. They slipped past those who seemed to already have a sense of where to stand, slowly gauging their height to the few already in some fashion of line until they spotted the first recruit taller. Reinhardt had found his place towards the front, two people ahead of Martinez. Jackson shifted into a place at the middle. Takashi found himself in front of Vinning at the back of the line and the two recruits behind them loomed at almost gargantuan heights. 

Another flock of squeaking boots; the female half of their division coming down the hallway and into the male compartment, before falling in line with the rest of them. 

Takashi fell into autopilot, following the recruit in front of him, too tired at that point to be thinking about anything aside from putting one foot in front of the other. He stepped into the stairwell, holding the door for Vinning to take, before continuing down the stairs. He felt his senses pick up, like they were curious to see if somehow Matt would be waiting, but even half asleep he knew that didn’t make any sense. His boots hit the first floor landing and stepped out, into the hall.

There was already a strict line of recruits standing opposite of his division. He couldn’t help, but scan over the faces, but there was nothing about the recruits opposite of them to insinuate his friend was even there. He felt his stomach drop when the division's RDCs stepped into view, shouting for the division to head inside. They weren’t the familiar faces from the morning.This wasn’t Matt’s division. He felt heavy with the disappointment. It was something to look forward to even if it was only silent conversations across two tables. 

It was even more disheartening when his hopes that Matt’s division was already inside seemed to be dashed as well. He’d scanned every face seated at the long tables on the way to the hot food and every unfamiliar glance just seemed to sap away another thread of energy. He looked to the separate section at the back where the RDCs would go to eat, but the dividing wall blocked the majority of his view.

The walk back after being dismissed from chow hall was silent and the echo of his boots hitting the steps on his way back up to the third floor felt hollow.

Takashi paused at the compartment door, allowing the sensor to recognize another body, before it slid open to allow him inside. He followed the scatter of recruits back to the foot of his own bunk, Jackson falling in beside him soon after.

It was a long period of quiet mumbles between people, but Takashi stayed silent, his eyes trained on the glass reflection in the shined toe of his black boots. Martinez and Jackson had started talking about a tv show. Mostly it was Jackson filling in Martinez on what had been going on since the latter had been in bootcamp. Takashi hadn’t paid it much mind. Their conversation turned into muffled hums and eruptions of quiet sound every now and then. 

“That’s how they left it off!?” Martinez grabbed at the curled locks pulled into his ponytail, mining a frustrated pull.

“Haha, right!? That tag checking shit is so real.” Jackson nodded, crossing his arms over his chest with a nod.

“Man, that was my entire time back at GenEd,” that was what people at the Galaxy Garrison called unspecified education, “Killing me…”

As countries and then the entire planet shifted into manifest destiny once the prospect of outer space as an actual, reasonably traversable frontier presented itself- education was the sector that took on the biggest change.

Education and the military more specifically.

For the most part the idea that kids could pick and choose more focused education programs was common place enough that there were eventually private schools that sprung up with the promise of landing people’s kids in some of the more desired fields that spearheaded the trek into outer space. Mathematics, Programming and Tech, Engineering, Biology and a number of sub factions being a few of the programs that started as young as Kindergarten.

Once he had become something of a figure after important revelations about the big, wide, open hanging above their heads Samuel Holt (Matt’s Dad)had been a big voice for the public sector- against privatized education.

The Military, however, took the turn for more inclusivity into the education pool when they formed the Galactic Division. Originally it had been the Air Force and the Navy jockeying for the chance to have an off world division. The Navy won out in the end, but it had all boiled down to the fact that essentially personnel were in ships- they just needed to go up first, before floating around. The actual Garrison Command itself was a joint operation between both the Navy and the Air Force. 

The Galaxy Garrison was their two cents into the education sector. It promised all of the funded education, in all of the professions that would be skyrocketing that the privatized schools were offering- at no cost. No monetary cost at least. It was still essentially the military and all the schooling and training they poured into kids as young as thirteen was expected to be paid back in time and service. They managed to get around the ever pesky legal age for military enlistment because the amount of time people would need to be educated in this type of field would have taken too long for typical seventeen to eighteen year old enlistees. 

In turn the military was gifted brilliant kids with dreams from parents terrified of an unsure future.

The Galaxy Garrison was stable. It eventually paid well and it provided a promising future. That was enough for a lot of people- even the ones who had joined when outer space wasn’t a neutral zone. 

Takashi wondered if Sam was so adamant about not letting The Garrison jerk their chains around too much because he had seen what the blind march had led kids of his own generation into. Takashi thought about the warfare medals on the chest of the Senior Officer that had shouted them off of the bus. Space as a war zone had to be something of nightmares. He took a minute to be thankful that, for the most part, the space they would be venturing out into was safe.

“SHOWERS!” Junior Officer Jones hadn’t even bothered to step out of the tiny office for the RDCs tucked into the corner of the compartment.

Takashi found himself snapped out of his thoughts by the bark of a voice, his eyes must have been closed because the light of their compartment flooded in abruptly.

The shouting was starting to wear thin on Takashi’s patience. He felt the irritability started to boil up like a hot froth and moved to his bunk to grab the net bag where they were to keep their toiletries. He didn’t say a word, even as Jackson audibly asked him if he was alright- before grabbing his own bag. He could hear two sets of feet, gingerly following after him, but neither Jackson, nor Martinez said anything.

Takashi found his own spot in the bathroom, undressed, and made his way into the shower room. It was open and completely covered in white, subway tile. There were two, thick, metal posts equidistant from the walls, and each other. In each post was six shower heads. Takashi stepped in with his netted bag in hand and headed for the far right corner. He hung his netted bag on the hook just below the shower head on the post and waited for the water release sensor to kick in.

A brief pause and he could feel the pour of warm water through his hair and down his shoulders. A long sigh left his lips and for that brief moment he had time to himself- and then it was onto the mad scramble that came with a very limited time window to clean yourself, before needing to get dry, get dressed, and be lined up by the foot of your bunk in ten minutes. 

-

After the shower he watched as the recruits that had been there earlier than the four of them gathered their laundry and folded it on their sections of floor. He let a long breath out of his nose as he leaned back against the foot of his bunk. The comfort of being newly cleaned and in the Garrison issued cotton shirt and shorts starting to wrap warm arms around him. The promise of this day being almost over setting him in deep peace. 

He closed his eyes.

“LIGHTS OUT!” Junior Officer Jones, still shouting.

Takashi let his eyes drift open, he must have fallen asleep. He was sitting with his legs spread, straight out in front of him on the floor, with both hands left to lazily hang in his lap. He shifted to his side, planting his hands on the linoleum, and pushing up just enough to crawl into bed.

He didn’t dream that night.

-

“RISE AND SHINE! I AM A SITH LORD AND I WILL SMIGHT SOME WEAK ASS RECRUITS!”

…..this was a nightmare…..

Takashi could hear the the warbled sound of a lightsaber drifting past the silence of sleep. It grew closer, as did the ridiculous ramblings of Junior Officer Jones, but Takashi just assumed that was the product of a too tired mind trying to wake itself up.

...Until there was a loud metallic thump too close to his head for comfort.

“WAKE THE FUCK UP SHE-RO-GAIN!” 

Wow.

_TWhuuum-Twhuuum!_

Takashi shifted up into a seated position, dragging his hands over his face, before turning to see Jones with his uniform boot planted on the head of Takashi’s bunk. Jones grinned like a jackal as he leaned down to look into the bottom bunk, a phone app with a lightsaber clearly displayed on the screen, and it took more effort than Takashi would ever admit to not shoot the Junior Officer a glare. Jones simply laughed, amused at himself, before wandering off further down the compartment. 

The thin, plastic coated, mattress crinkled beneath his weight as Takashi lifted himself up from his bunk and back onto the floor.

“Hey, Shiro.” Jackson offered groggily, already on his feet, and pulling his cream and orange tracksuit out of his bunk storage above.

“...Hey…” Takashi replied through the fabric of the T-shirt he’d been in the middle of pulling off.

The rest was routine. Brush your teeth, shave, and get to your bunks before the Senior Officer sent them into a height line. Then it was off to chow hall.

Tired eyes stayed focused on the recruit in front of him as they made their way down the hallway to chow hall. He wasn’t sure how someone could sleep as hard as he had and still wake up tired, but judging by the dark circles and drawn faces around him- this was his new reality. The recruit in front fell in line and came to stop. Takashi did the same, huffing a blasé sort of noise out of his mouth. 

The hallway was still and silent with no sign of Matt. 

-

 

Dark eyes lifted from the floor, narrowed with sleep and the residual irritation from his wake up call earlier, as he pushed open the stairwell door. Takashi hadn’t been paying attention on his walk back from chow that morning. The only time he really cared to was when he was looking for his friend, but it was now one for three. 

“Hey, stranger,” a familiar voice, “might I say you look exceptionally like ass this morning?”

The door to the stairwell slid shut behind him and Takashi could feel the smile pulling at his lips. He felt lighter, not as weighed down.

Matt.

“Why thank you. I’ve been following this beauty blogger- Matt Holt. You probably never heard of him because he is just terrible? Really irrelevant? “Exceptionally Like Ass” is his thing.” He shot a challenging look over his shoulder as his boot hit the first step.

“Dang, he could look exceptionally like anything he damn well pleased with a name like Matt Holt,” Matt smirked, following his friend up the stairs, “he’s basically James Bond with that name.”

The disbelieving sound that escaped Takashi’s mouth echoed through the stairwell. Matt started up again;

“I mean, with that name, are you sure he’s not a professional wrestler on the side?” A pause, “are you sure he’s not just Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson with a nice wig on?”

That was a throwback and a half. Vinning would have appreciated the outdated name drop. 

“Oh, you know what? He did have suspiciously developed traps for a beauty blogger. He might actually be The Rock?”

“I fucking knew it.”

“Curse you Dwayne!” Takashi curled the hand that hadn’t been wrapped around the banister into a fist and raised it to the sky.

“A hex be on your fabulous pen name: Matt Holt- that beautiful, beautiful, boy- who is also you!”

“A hex?” Takashi half choked on the laugh that started to push its way past his lips, “Oh, you’ll enjoy this-“

“Mhm?” Matt replied with more of a noise than actual words.

“My RDC is a Sith Lord. He woke us up with a lightsaber app this morning.”

Takashi could hear the footsteps behind him come to a stop and he turned around to look at Matt with a preemptive smile. His friend stood a step or two down with a confused, but thoroughly amused expression on his face.

“...that’s….the greatest thing…...I have ever heard….”

“I wanted to strangle him.”

Takashi shifted starting back up the stairs again.

“Man, we just hear trumpets in surround sound because we’re on the corner where the stupid speakers are.”

”I kind of like Reveille.”

“You mean Réveille?” This time Matt laughed as they stepped up into the third floor landing.

“...wow...okay, if you want to play it that way.”

“It’s French. You uncultured swine.” Matt joked.

“I know it’s French, but I’m not pretentious. So, I’m not using an accent.” Takashi teases in return.

Matt gasped, clutching at imaginary pearls like a flabbergasted women from old black and white film. 

“Pretentious? Why. I’d. Never!”

Takashi turned around to fully face Matt as he stood before the door, pushing it open with his back, a playful smirk on his face. Matt smiled, stepped forward to catch the door before it swung shut, muttering; “Asshole,” with a light laugh behind it.

Takashi started off for his compartment realizing now that for a brief moment, in the stairwell, all of the stress, and the rushing, and the screaming had fallen by the way side instead of resting squarely on his shoulders. As he stood in front of the door waiting for the sensor to signal it to open; he couldn’t help, but feel like this may have been the best decision he’d ever made.


	3. Assembly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love letters and impromptu competition

Matt was right. Shiro did enjoy bootcamp.

Granted at the beginning a lot of it was chaos considering they’d been thrown into a division already a week ahead, with established routines, that had the actual rules and regulations laid out before them on the first day. All Shiro, Vinning, Jackson, and Reinhardt were given was the rushed tutorial on folding their uniform items and catch up training in between the already scheduled training their division was set for.

Thankfully, once the rush of trying to get caught up wore off, things started to siphon off into a new sort of normal. By now Shiro knew how to read the plan of the day that had been posted by the compartment door. Outside of what training was new for that day; everything else was exactly the same. It was repetitive and comfortable. As long as he had some form of routine Shiro could have adjusted to almost anything.

At night, when they woke eachother up to iron uniform items, Shiro would spend some time to himself- shining his boots and losing himself in easy thought. That was his time while the other recruits provided a soundtrack of quiet snores and the occasional bout of sleep talking. Every now and then when he would push himself up from his nest of newly folded t-shirts, blouses, and uniform pants to wake Jackson up (so he could get on with the mandatory chore) they’d both sit awake for a minute to talk.

“I’m just saying I wish I got mail like you, man!” Jackson never had much of a system for ironing, the chaos made Shiro’s skin itch just looking at his shipmate’s scattered mess.

“It’s not really a huge deal. I didn’t get any mail for that first week.” Shiro had been laying in his bunk, flat on his stomach, with his arms crossed beneath his chin.

“Not true. Your mom sent you a letter after like the third day!” Jackson had his back pressed to the side of Shiro’s bed with his eyes set on the ironing board they’d laid out on the floor. He shot a look over his shoulder to drive his point home.

“My mom is the only one that would send me a letter, man. You got your entire family sending you pictures and everything.”

“True, true. Damn. Those pictures are the only thing keeping me sane in this joint. It’s nice to see life is still normal out there, y’know?”

Shiro laughed, peeling open the back of the envelope he’d tucked beside his mattress earlier. He did know in a way. He missed things like barbecues, driving with the windows down, and sitting outside in the summer air as the sun started to set. He’d grown up near the beach and the idea of ocean spray, of sand, had his heart ache with the weight of homesickness.

He missed his mom.

People would always say how much alike they were- something he was always glad for because if he wanted to be like anyone it was her. He’d wake up in the morning, shave, and find memories of her in his own face. Her eyes, her cheekbones, the cowlick at the front of his head that half of her side of the family seemed to struggle with. She didn’t send pictures, probably because his first letter home said that they couldn’t, but slowly Shiro noticed the RDCs didn’t seem to care. They would always just look through the pictures to make sure it wasn’t porn.

...maybe he’d ask for some pictures of home…

“...yeah, I get that…” Shiro replied, albeit with some distance in his voice.

Jackson paused in his work, looking over his shoulder again at Shiro with an eyebrows raised. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, fighting with something only Jackson knew of. His eyes looked down at the letter in Shiro’d hand as his back straightened up, excitement replacing the worry that had crept in back into dark corners.

“Ooh, Shiro got another letter from his “Boo-boo”?”

Shiro silently wished he was just teasing him, but he knew Jackson was being entirely serious. “Boo-boo,” signed with a heart, had been sending him letters everyday since the second week in.

“Yeah,” Shiro laughed, his fingers deftly working out the folded letter inside, “they’re pretty relentless.”

“Shit, dude. Everyday though? I’m jealous. I could use a “Boo-boo”.”

“Hey, you get pictures. I’d say we’re even.”

“I say, pictures of cookouts aren’t gonna take care of me once I’m outta here.” Jackson wiggled his eyebrows, pausing halfway through ironing the breast pocket of his blouse.

Shiro nearly choked on his own saliva. He could feel it invade his windpipe on the extreme inhale that accompanied the shock of that...particular...comment.

“I-It’s not like,” another cough, “the whole boo-boo thing is just a joke. From a friend.”

“Mhmm,” Jackson drawled, pursing his lips in a way that let Shiro know he wasn’t buying any of that, “I’m not judging y’all’s pet names.”

Shiro rolled his eyes, but laughed regardless. Jackson fell quiet and he set to reading the letter unfurled in his hands;

_Hey, Takashi, it’s ya Boo-boo!_

_Baby, I miss you so much. I just sit here all day thinking about how I just /love/ a man in uniform. MMmmm, be still my heart. This sweet southern girl’s heart is just all a flutter. Mah Lawd._

_Maybe when you get back home, into my loving arms, you can channel some Junior Officer Jones and use your lightsaber ;) to strike down this damsel._

The laugh that pushed past Shiro’s lips had been so abrupt that Jackson nearly jumped out of his skin from the sound.

“Sorry, sorry!” Shiro whispered, watching as Jackson rolled his eyes with a lighthearted smile, turning back to his laundry.

“Shiro gets a boo-boo and she got a sense of humor? Some bullshit. Let me tell you.” Jackson teased, grumbling under his breath.

_But seriously._

_That never gets old. I’m going to be telling everyone at A-school about that and he isn’t even my freaking RDC! I mean, mine don’t fly off the handle like lunatics when we can’t load and unload firearms? But that guy’s quotes are pure gold._

_Oh, yeah. So he actually snapped a clipboard!? Like with his own hands!? Asking for a friend- because he might actually be an alien with that kind of strength._

_I can’t tell if Jones calls your buddy Reinhardt “World of Warcraft” because he thinks he’s a nerd or because he thinks the guy looks like a dwarf? Thoughts? Opinions?_

_Updates from this side of the hall;_

_That card that the RDC’s have out when they IT us? Yeah, I snuck a peak at that. They’re only allowed to make us do so many reps of exercises in a set time. Soooo, basically if we max them out they can’t do anything. HILARIOUS._

  
_Having to say cadence while running is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. How the hell does that “help with breathing?” Anyway- i just move my mouth now. That works._

  
_Firearm training is traumatizing. Who in their right minds gives kids guns, for the first time, and then screams at them while they’re holding a loaded weapon. Hello? Nervous enough already?_

  
_Wasn’t fire training great? That was badass. Also, I rock a gas mask like I’m a freaking pro. Let me just say- if I don’t make it through Research and Discovery? I’m cross-rating to be in Damage Control._

  
_My bunkmate has bronchitis and it sounds like they’re turning into a fucking zombie at night. If I don’t make it- promise me you will avenge me when I’m Zombie!Matt._

  
_How stupid is it that we can’t send letters to people in bootcamp with us? Two people just got caught in my division passing notes between the male and female compartments- and when I said; “Just. Send. Letters” they were like; “Whaa? No! That’s against the rules!” Yeah. So is passing notes? Except notes are stupid? And easily caught? Send a letter home, have them send the letter, here. It’s two days of lag._

_Anyway, we’ve got assembly on Saturday. I’m telling you getting out of this building and actually having the freedom to socialize is the only way I’m making it through this place sane. I’m bored out of my mind. Every loop has been holed (hehe). I’ve been writing code in my stupid notebook just to keep my brain from falling out of my ears._

_Does band have assembly? I wonder if we train together since we’re both performing divisions. Not going to get my hopes up, but that’d be pretty awesome. *proceeds to get all the hopes up anyway*_

_How’s life over there? Have you heard anything about battle stations yet? Catch me up._

_Love, forever and ever and ever and always, your most doting, most beautiful, most darling, most sweetest, madly in love, totally female, looks great in pastels, but don't’ you dare come at me with the color yellow- I look jaundice,_

_Boo-boo_

_(With a heart.)  
_

Shiro smiled to himself as he neatly folded the letter in the creases and slid it back into the envelope. At first he hated that Matt had started to send him letters because, as they all knew, that was strictly off limits. There was all sorts of proclamations that it was the easiest way to get you kicked out and the majority of people were shaking in their perfectly shined boots at the idea. The first letter he’d received, while completely vexing at first, had quickly turned into an all out panic when he realized that it was Matt. He lived with the ever present panic that somehow the RDCs would find out the little ruse his friend had pulled off. The first two letters he didn’t even bother to write back, figuring that Matt would take the hint that he wasn’t about to break rules, until the third letter managed to coax him out of his comfort zone. Eventually it started to just feel good enough that it was worth the risk. Besides if Matt didn’t want to get caught then he wouldn’t- something Shiro trusted in more than he’d ever willingly admit.

So, they wrote.

Jackson had started to humming a song that had been playing on the radio almost non-stop before Shiro had set off from MEPS for bootcamp. He recognized it and the low baritone rumble had jogged his memory enough that in his own mind the lyrics played themselves in wilting tones. Shiro slid out of his bunk, lifted the mattress and unlocked the personal effects box that sat at the center. In went Matt’s letter, out came Shiro’s notebook and pen. He took a moment, settling into the small cushion between him and the hard metal of the bunk bed, before pressing pen to paper;

_Dear Boo-boo,_

_Oh, BB. I know you like a man in uniform because- YOU SLEPT WITH MY BEST FRIEND YOU HARLOT. Yeah, you think I don’t know what you did, but I know. Damn, almost a month away and you are already spread eagle. That’s cool. That’s fine. Karma is real, girlfriend. Well, I’ll have you know that there is nothing you could do to change my mind about all of this. We are over. Don’t even bother writing me any more letters- especially not letters where you plead your case and I, naive and love drunk, forgive you because I think you can change (More importantly that /I/ can change you) because that’s not going to happen missy._

_No ma'am._

_But since you asked;_

_With his bare hands, dude. It was freaking insane. Vinning was next to the guy that Jones flipped on and he said there were capillaries bursting he was raging so hard._

_I want to say it's because of those birth control glasses? But he’s also kind of dick. So, it’s entirely possible he’s making fun of the fact that the guy is built like a tiny brick house. It’s crazy. He runs so fast too which is almost mind boggling because all of our taller guys are just loping ahead and all of a sudden Reinhardt blows past them like a torpedo._

_Only you would think that’s hilarious._

_  
It is stupid. The breaths for me are always too far off my natural breathing pattern and I end up winded every. Time. I might sneak in the mouth moving trick- because you’re just a bad influence. And breathing is nice._

_  
Huh, our guys didn’t really yell. One kid turned around with the loaded gun and the hire ups chewed her out. I think the entire building of officers were in her station, but I mean...she could have actually killed the officer in there with her. They didn’t kick her out though. I’m starting to wonder if maybe bootcamp rules aren’t as life or death as they make us think._

_  
It was pretty great. I can’t believe the amount of work that goes into making the training facilities. The door handles actually heated up. Getting gassed was pretty shitty. I think we had it worse because we have to shave. As soon as we pulled the masks off in that chamber my entire face was just burning. Anybody on your side throw up? We had a few. Also, stop talking like that. You’re going to breeze through A-school._

_  
I will. I swear I will avenge ye!!!_

_  
Well, this might come as a shock, but some people take rules for what they are? Y’know….rules?_

_Yeah, we have assembly, but you’ll get this letter on Monday. Get those hopes up. I heard we have to do a field day. That means we get free roam to sort of clean….whatever….this place needs cleaned. I’ll look for you._

_Life is good. I kind of like bootcamp. It’s fun. I figured out that if you breathe on your shoe after you put the polish on and really buff it out it gets really freaking shiny. I hate being on bathroom cleaning duty- especially on Sunday, but it’s all the new guys. (Me, Jackson, Vinning, and Reinhardt) They sing which makes it hilarious. Last week they’d even gone as far as having their own parts. It’s possible I provided drums. We both know I don’t sing for obvious reasons, haha!_

_It’s nice to have days like that. I’m excited for assembly. I haven’t touched an instrument since school. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you with flags. Did they explain what that even means here? I’ll probably just see Saturday._

_The only thing we’ve heard about battle stations is it’s insane. Supposedly we’ll be getting ready for that over the next week. What did your RDCs say? Can you believe we’re almost out of here? It’s flown by!_

_Love, but not really because we are so over, but also love because I don’t know how I feel anymore. Why do you torment me woman? You complete me. No, no you don’t you’re awful- I mean, my best friend? Matt isn’t even into redheads. I don’t know how I feel anymore, maybe I feel nothing,_

_Takashi_

Shiro grinned, tearing out the page from his notebook and neatly folding it. When he looked up, the ache in his cheeks apparent, Jackson had been smirking from his spot on the floor. He couldn’t help, but wonder how long his bunkmate had been watching him scribble away on paper, but he found himself chuckling quietly. Jackson had no idea of the drama that just unfolded between him and his “Boo-boo.” Shiro took a breath in, letting the smile slip into something torn, before shaking his head.

“Boo-boo cheated on me, man.”  
“She what!? The fuck are you so happy about!?”

-

Saturday morning 936 marched their way down to the west side of the base where a large hanger stood proud and square against the deep rusted orange of the desert. Shiro had fallen into the easy stride of cadence, second nature by now, and spent the majority of their march taking in parts of the base he’d never been able to see until that day. Matt often compared their situation to living in a fishbowl. They were all stuck in an environment that made it seem like there was nothing outside the glass of the training hall, chow, and the barracks. This had been the first time he’d really started to feel that phenomenon peel away. It was strange- only a few more steps past their usual trek was an entire section of base no one knew existed.

But here it was

_Left, right, left_

The strange part was that in this section there seemed to be more niceties. It was less barren here. In place of plain, wide, sidewalks there were now planters with all manner of spiraling, spidering, desert plants.

_Leeeft, right, LeeEEft_

The windows of the building they were currently headed towards had wide, sweeping, windows- lined with an oxidized copper. The exterior was a white, neigh pristine adobe. It was nothing like the basic, concrete blocks of every other building their division had visited.

_I’m a steamroller baby_

The fishbowl cracked away, a reminder there was still a world outside of their small, bootcamp, existence. A reminder that after this they were all moving onto bigger things. It had been so easy to fall into the complacent slumber of routine, but now, looking up at the decorative spire at the front of the building Shiro felt small. It was the same feeling he’d felt in his stomach as he swore in- the same feeling he’d felt when they’d finally been issued uniforms outside of their PT gear. The building sprouted up clean and untouched by the burnt orange hue that touched the sidewalk in sweeps of dust. Something in his chest lifted and gave way.

_Just a rolling down the line_

“YOU TOO FUCKING GOOD FOR CADENCE, SHIRO!?” Junior Officer Jones’ voice carried from the middle of their formation, dark eyes narrowed over his shoulder at Shiro, who blinked.

_Soo, you better get out of my way now!_

“NO SIR!” He finally replied.

_Before I roll right over you!_

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

 _It’s just a little;_  
_HEY!_

“GODDAMMIT SHI-RORO!” Jones again, only this time there was a line of spittle at the corner of his mouth. He had given up on Takashi’s last name a week in and settled for stupid nicknames. After Takashi sort of proved himself to be an on point recruit the nicknames seemed to settle down, but every once in while Jones would bring them back without missing a step.

 _A little;_  
“WOO!” Shiro called, his voice lost in the burst of voices around him.

Junior Officer Jones seemed pleased regardless and turned his attention forward. It was easy to tell when the mood in the division was lighter. More often than not if their cadence caller was in good spirits they got to call off something with more life than the usual left,right,left. Steamroller had become an easy favorite, mostly because their was just something about the way the “Hey”s and the “Woo”s seemed to bubble up something that felt like fun.

 _ooooOOOOoooOO!_  
“HeeeEEEeeeEEY!!”

 _Before I roll right over you!_ their cadence’s voice broke into the mouth of the open hanger doors as their division stepped through with such a boom that the group of recruits already inside seemed to startle- turning their attention to the new arrivals.

Takashi scanned the faces, but couldn’t ignore the way a wide, proud, smile pulled at her lips. She knew she had the best cadence out of their division, as well as, their brother division. The fact that Jones had let out a loud bark of laugh, patting her on the back with enough force to send her stumbling forward a step, only seemed to spread that pride through the division like a ripple in still waters.

It felt like a good day- and it had only just started.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Junior Officer Jones whooped, “Fall out!”

The formation shifted out of rank enough that there wasn’t going to be any reason for Jones to start popping blood vessels for making him “look like a jackass.” Some recruits fell back further, joining their friends from different sections of their height order, laughing and carrying on along with their RDC.

“See that you flag motherfuckers!?”, Jones continued to shout, “Shoulda joined the dark side! 936! We know how to call some real cadence!”

A few of the recruits from 935 rolled their eyes, lost in the safety of numbers from whatever reprieve would have normally been hurdled their way at the hands of a rather unstable RDC.

“Excuse me, _Junior_ Officer,” a female voice from the back of the recruits currently holding flags echoed forward, until she emerged from the group with a smirk, “Are you insinuating my division can’t call cadence?”

Junior Officer Jones stepped forward, his hands on the belt of his uniform with a challenging smile. Shiro would have paid their little feud some mind if Matt hadn’t stepped out of one of the far doors, a long, wooden flag pole tucked under his arm. He paused, catching sight of his Senior Officer and Shiro’s Junior Officer now locked in a position that could only mean imminent war.

More often than not they’d made a habit to play tricks on each other‘s a division. In passing. One time 935, Matt’s division, had pulled out one of the more classic cadence calls when you were planning on stirring up something on the sidewalk, which was “Grenade.” Grenade...was as simple as it sounded. One division’s cadence caller shouted “Grenade” and lobbed an air ball towards the division on the opposite side of the street. The “assaulted” division would then crumble, before righting themselves and continuing on. The more Shiro thought about it, the more he had to wonder how that was allowed all things considered, but at the same time they rarely were allowed to goof off. It was a good breath of fresh air- especially when he could spot Matt’s look of feigned horror from his place in 935’s formation.

It had been a brutal game. Jones constantly trying to one up 935’s senior officer and now, with both divisions fully gathered inside, it looked like it was about to come to a head. Shiro looked from Matt’s frozen form, to the Officers now almost nose to nose, and then back to Matt. This time Matt had caught his stare and smiled, mouthing;

_“Oooh, shit is about to go. Down.”_

Shiro nodded, slowly, making his eyes wide in a show of mock suspense.

“Ma’am. I know, this might come as a shock to you, but my best recruit could beat your best recruit...any...day...of...the...week.”

The Senior Officer looked unimpressed and leaned back, with her arms crossed over her chest, to make eye contact with some of the flag holders behind her.

“Oh yeah?” She smirked, a neatly groomed eyebrow lifted high on her forehead,”HOLT!”

Matt startled, half dropping the pole tucked under his arm before scrambling to scoop it back up. It was the first time Shiro could really see the two, small, flags that had been neatly curled around each end for storage.

“Y-YES, MA’AM!”

She held up a single finger, beckoning her recruit out of the doorway he stood in. Shiro could see the amused grin on Matt’s face and knew for a sure fact he was fighting the urge to make a comment about making someone come with one finger. It had been one of his favorite lines to pull whenever anyone…. _anyone_ made that motion around him.

Matt fell in at her side, nervously looking between her and Officer Jones.

“Well?” She cooed, her hands falling to her own hips.

“The fuck is my golden boy at!” Jones shouted, because he was always shouting,”RO-RO! WHERE ARE YOU!? GET UP HERE!”

Shiro knew all too well who “Ro-ro” was. He’d been picked as AO, Athletic Officer, and his job was to lead PT stretches, warm-ups, and cool downs. Apparently Jones, as much as he picked on him, had taken somewhat of a shine to Shiro after Jones tried to beat him on push-ups- and Shiro won. (To be fair Jones could have out run Shiro on even his worst day.) “Golden boy” was a new one and Shiro wanted to just disappear into the floor; he would have, had another recruit not nudged him forward.

Jones looked pleased, giving Matt a skeptical up and down, before turning to the Senior Officer.

“Mm, your “best recruit” looks like a string bean. You ready to get embarrassed, Ma’am?”

“We’ll see,” she didn’t sound phased at all, “I bet that _my_ string bean can spin those flags- WITHOUT dropping them, longer than your golden boy can do….what was it?”[/color]

“Push-ups.” Jones concluded, smug as ever.

Did they talk about their recruits? Had they talked about this?!

“And you’re on Ma’am.”

Shiro and Matt exchanged unwilling looks. Competition was always fun when you were the ones that started it. That, on top of, you didn’t typically have a division of 40 plus recruits and two _very_ competitive officers riding on you for entertainment. However, he wouldn’t let the nerves show that easily...this still could have been fun. A grin pulled at the corners of Shiro’s lips and he swung his arms back to try and open up his chest enough that he wouldn’t be pulling something when it came down to pushing out as many push-ups as possible.

“Alright, recruits,” she held up three, thin, perfectly manicured fingers.

3

Matt unfurled the small square flags on either end of the wooden dowel in his hand, returning Shiro’s grin with one of his own, before laying it across the back of his neck.

 

2

Shiro lowered himself down, resting in a plank with his legs straight out and his forearms resting on the the chilled concrete floor of the hanger.

 

1

And that was all they needed.

In one, graceful, push forward on the right side of his dowel Matt sent the flag on the left side sweeping around behind him, before whipping it back forward across his neck. It was effortless, even once he’d pressed the momentum down over the curve of his shoulder and through the space between his ribs and bicep. Shiro had never knew, let alone seen, that Matt was even capable of something like that. Then again this wasn’t exactly the kind of skill they tried to hone in the recruiters office. Grayed eyes stared up at his friend in a frozen sort of awe- he hadn’t even moved to push up onto his hands until Jones had gently nudged him in the ribs with his uniform boot.

“Kick his Darth Maul lookin’ ass.” Jones rumbled with a pride that Shiro didn’t know he could have even possed any less than a moment ago.

Shiro nodded, pushing up onto the palms of his hands, before letting gravity drop his chest to the floor low enough that he could hear his dog tags jingle. The muscles in his chest and the back of his arms lit up and he was off to the races.

Originally it was silent and then Jones, who had apparently been counting, started to whoop how many reps Shiro had pushed himself to. Soon after that 936 had started to count along as well. He could see Vinning crouched down on his hands and knees beside him, absolutely losing his mind in a way he’s never seen the lanky man let go before- shouting encouragement all the while. Jackson had taken to pacing up and down the length of 935’s formation like some sort of hype man- shouting all sort of noise Shiro couldn’t hear over the rush of his own blood in his ears. Jones stood like a statue, staring down 935’s Senior Officer like he’d seen the future and just knew he would be coming out on top- until it was time for him to shout another number.

Matt had his brow curled up in concentration, tiny beads of sweat had broken out along his temples and at the easy curve in his nose, but for the most part he continued on unperturbed. A recruit from 935 had run to the bathroom and every once in a while Matt would hold the dowel on a rotation over his opposite shoulder so they could wipe the sweat out of his eyes. 935s Senior Officer seemed completely unphased outside of the deviant spark in her eyes that spoke of the war she was waging on a mental plain with the over excited Junior Officer in front of her.

It was...awesome. This quiet sort of simmer that would erupt into a boil had she not been in such serene control.

Jackson was met with his counterpart, a small colombian girl, that had her hair pulled into a tight bun. She ran the paced laps right along with the much taller man and out of the corner of his eye Shiro could see their arms flying through motions of whatever it was they were expressing.

This was insane.

Shiro felt himself laugh breathlessly as he pushed through another push-up, stalling at the top because every fiber of his being was screaming.

“COME ON SHIRO! YOU GOT THIS! HE’S BREAKING DOWN!” A voice from 936.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING QUIT ON ME RO-RO I SWEAR ON MY GRANDMOTHERS GRAVE YOU BETTER NOT QUIT!”

“WE ARE DIVISIOOOOON,” Jackson’s voice raised high over the absolute chaos that was just singular cheers and hoots from both divisions.

“936!” Came a roar from behind Shiro.

Two could play at that game, as a female’s voice raised high above their heads in the barebone rafters of the hanger.

“WE ARE DIVISIOOON!”  
“935!” Came another unified boom of voices behind Matt.

By now, both Matt and Shiro had started to quietly laugh to themselves. Trying to push past whatever it was in their bodies trying to tell them to quit, but the absolute circus around them urging everything forward. They weren’t sure how they ended up in this mess, but there was the flutter of butterflies pushing through the walls of their stomachs- resonating in their chests with the base of two, entire, divisions worth of voices.

Shiro dipped down. Stalled.

Matt lurched forward, trying to keep his waist at the center of the dowel that had tried to escape the push and pull established.

“Takashi. I’m dying.” He heard his friend laugh.  
“Oh, god.” Takashi replied empathetically.

Shiro watched as a bead of sweat paused at the apex of his nose, shaking violently along with the rest of him, unable to find the strength to push himself back up and lock his elbows.

“RO-RO! I WILL SMITE YOUR WEAK RECRUIT ASS! DON’T YOU FAIL ME! I GOT MY FUCKING LIGHTSABER RIGHT HERE!”

A hollow clunk of wood echoed out and Shiro hadn’t realized his face has finally pressed down onto concrete until he opened his eyes, the heat from his body leeching any of the cooler temperature from the surface.

Matt was a foot or two in front of him, on his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath from the hysterical fit of laughter he’d fallen into. Shiro had heard that line enough times by now that it didn’t reduce him into a fit like it had his friend and a majority of 935, but watching the way sweat and the tears at the corners of Matt’s eyes had started to mix together was enough to have him chuckling his amusement into the floor below him.

There was another crest in the laughter as the familiar _whuumpf_ of Jones’ awful lightsaber app sounded above Shiro’s head, followed by a line of half hearted curses. Now even 936 had started to crumble into heaps of giggling and boisterous laughter.

Matt reach out a hand, slipping down to lay on his chest against the floor, and Shiro reached out at well. There was a lazy sort of high five than simply melted into an exhausted notion of open hand in open hand.

“I forgive you,” Shiro laughed, watching his breath streak across the floor in a light grey fog.

“W-what?” Matt laughed, breathlessly.

Above them Jones had been shouting, thoroughly enjoying to chance to let loose and revel in the fact he had two divisions (and a Senior Officer) in tears over his theatrics.

“In my letter. You cheated on me with my best friend, but I forgive you.”

“...haha…” Matt lifted his head, just enough to wink at Shiro, “I told you Matt Holt was a name that’d charm the pants off any lady- Boo-boo didn’t stand a chance.”

Shiro felt the clammy fingers of the hand below him wrap around his own and he returned it with a squeeze.

Definitely a good day.


	4. Onwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battlestations; Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one! I usually try to get chapters up on Saturdays, but my basement was flooded thanks to Maryland’s wonderful weather. :I 
> 
> BUT let me just say that you guys have been such a driving force for me this week with your comments and kudos. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. They kept me positive and excited to bring you guys what was next- despite house mess. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

They’d heard a lot of about Battlestations over their time in bootcamp, but the vast majority of talk was pure speculation. As they neared the last week of basic training the ins and outs of the obstacles they would be facing were touched on in specialized training sessions. 

Broken down there were a few things that they knew for sure;

Battlestations was as much of a production as it was a test. Tucked away, somewhere outside their fishbowl world, was a ship. That, yes, was an actual, physical, _space_ ship to be more specific. At one point it had served its purpose as one of the cargo ships on the forefront of deep space exploration. They called her “The GSS” which was short for Garrison Supply Ship. It was nothing fancy, spelled out at least, but the acronym had definitely added a little something to the mystique of it all. Shiro’s RDCs had only ever referred to it as The GSS and every time he could feel his breath catch from the sheer promise of adventure and authority that seemed to hold. Matt had written to him later stating that everyone was so set on perpetuating “The GSS” (Shiro could practically feel the mocking tone drip from the notebook paper) because it was easier to forget they were basically training in an oversized UPS truck than its actual name. On that ship there would be a number of scenarios that their training throughout bootcamp should have prepared them for. 

Outside of that they’d heard all manner of things;

Someone claimed that a distance cousin had mentioned getting burned in the fire fighting scenario. Another: that if you failed you got booted right back to civilian life. A third mentioned the possibility of them all getting gassed again. 

There were cliff notes on the designer for the inside of the ship was one of the leading adventure park creators. Notions of there possibly being anti-gravity situations they don’t prepare you for. Someone even apparently heard that the division before them had made such a grave mistake that the entire division failed and had to start all over again. 

Shiro hoped the last one wasn’t true. As easy of a ride as it had been he was ready to be done as the last few days of training inched closer. The pilot program coordinator had already taken the pilots in his division to their a-school brief and that taste of what was to come had him chomping at the bit for graduation. (Matt had his own brief, but Shiro needed to wait two more days for the letter about that.)

As his division marched their way beneath the overhang of the large hanger housing The GSS, he could feel his chest go tight. The daunting task looming before him, in the form of an old cargo ship buttressed into its permanent place on earth, casted a deep shadow on his confidence. He swallowed and it sounded harsh in his ears. Vinning shifted behind him, shuffling his feet nervously as Jones let them fall at ease. 

“....dang…” he could hear Martinez mutter quietly.

Dang was right. The size of the cargo ship was incredible and the fact that a building existed that was big enough to hold it inside of its bare boned belly was even more so. The ship was a deep camel color, offset by jutting sections of an olive drab, and thick beams of a lighter cream. There were no windows except for the pilot window and even that seemed to be very narrow despite the fact it ran the entire front of the ship. Along both sides The Garrison had erected thick poles that had been concreted into the floor- and more than likely even deeper into the earth below that. They stood there, tall and proud, where they cradled the body of the ship. The catwalk looked measly in comparison- nothing but grated steel and piping leading to the quarterdeck hatch.

When Shiro finally managed to pull his eyes away from the cargo ship he’d realized that a second division stood in the space alongside 936. They looked out of place along the wide expanse of white that composed the inside of the hanger. They stood there- just a stain of cream, orange, and wide awestruck eyes. It was 935- obvious enough after enough assembly sessions where Shiro found himself working alongside a good majority of the flags as they prepared to perform at the graduation ceremony. Eventually he found the soft curves of Matt’s face, interrupted only by the weight of too thick glasses. 

It was probably the only time he’d ever seen Matt truly speechless. 

Sam Holt had been around plenty of ships (and he often took his children to see them), but as technology and travel spearheaded forward at speeds no one could truly wrap their head around, even he had mentioned being caught of guard by just how incredible human ingenuity was . He would always say they were capable of so much adventure and altruism. He always made sure to make it a point that despite the terrible evils that were faced in what was early space exploration, because of the greed of a few men, there was good. He reminded them that as traditional lithium-ion batteries had started to run the end of the course as an energy component they’d been able to discover a mine on Jupiter with material that held very similar properties to anodes already on earth, but promised more capacity and recharge value. If they could up the battery game further than current science already had than they could have pushed ships and supplies as far as Neptune. Matt and Sam were excited about that sort of thing. Shiro and Colleen, Matt’s mother, tended to humor them by listening and trying their best to follow along. 

Shiro understood more than he’d ever let on and Colleen never looked confused. He had a sneaking suspicion she was just a brilliant, if not more so in her own way, as Sam was. She was never one for space travel, so she tended to keep her roots on earth, but one would have needed some stellar sort of intelligence to make speeches for the public on behalf of scientists like her husband. It was thankless almost in the fact that she needed to not only understand all of the information being thrown at her (by people who, for the life of them, had no clue how to explain it like they were five) and then understand it enough to teach it to other people at a first grade level of understanding. 

Looking back up at the cargo ship Shiro wasn’t sure he would ever be able to simplify half of what he and Matt would be seeing in their careers, seeing as the only word that came to mind in that moment was;

“....wow….” It left his lips breathless.

“...wow, is right…” he heard Vinning reply quietly. 

A new face stepped to the front of both divisions. He was a large, broad shouldered man, with a gruff disposition. His skin was a deep brown and while his head was shaved, the patch of facial hair he sported betrayed salt and pepper hair. 

The engraved lettering on the name tag bouncing on his chest glinted in the fluorescents over head. 

_Iverson_

“ATTEN-TION!” His voice boomed in a way their RDCs had yet to master and shook the entirety of both divisions into rigid stance. “all right recruits! My name is Captain Iverson and I am the Officer in Charge at the Garrison Galaxy where all of you will be training….. _after_ ”

He smirked, closing his eyes and allowing a beat of silence to pass before opening them again.

“...you get through battlestations.”

There was a light hiss of air that had only been noticeable above the ambience of silence due to how incredibly still that hanger had fallen. Shiro looked out of the corner of his eye to fine Matt silently picking over the captain with his eyes and looking thoroughly unimpressed. Shiro was beginning to think the only thing that did impress his friend was CloudSpace humor, a crafty line of code, and the cargo ship in front of them. Jackson looked nervous, shifting minimally where he stood at attention as if he was uneasy beneath the piercing gaze of the Officer in front of them. 

Shiro felt a wave of pride that teetered off into a quiet admiration. That was how he wanted to stand one day. 

“You and your brother division will be working together as a full crew to get this ship to your destination. This might be easy to misconstrue as a game, or I might sound foolish presenting it to you like this, but let me make something very clear. The next time you face any of the situations you are going to face aboard that ship today- someone could die.”

A tension swept through both divisions like a chill, even Matt seemed to let that reality shift into the seat it rightfully deserved.

“This is it, recruits. You will either step off of this ship as cadets or you will have the pleasure of knowing that because you did not take this seriously, because you slacked off through basic training, because everything was always someone else’s problem you will have effectively killed another human being, cost your team the mission, and found yourself accountable for billions of dollars worth of damage.”

Iverson was intense, but he wasn’t wrong. Shiro nodded gently in reply having understood that while basic training had been mostly a mind game it was preparing them for the world that they were stepping into. It was as dangerous as it was exciting and it was in that moment Takashi Shirogane stepped out from the man he had been coming into this experience and into the boots of the man he would be leaving. There was no room for mistakes, people depended on him, people’s _lives_ depended on him.

As a pilot they always would. 

“Good luck.” 

“Thank you, sir!” Had lifted to the rafters, carried on the voices from a majority of their now joined division. The rest of the recruits still seemed to be caught in a stunned silence.

Iverson saluted with a sharp hand, before dropping it to his side, and stepping up to the pedestal beside the skeleton platform that led to a hatch on the side of the ship. 935’s Senior Officer stepped up beside him along with Shiro’s Senior Officer. Junior Officer Jones stepped in next, followed by 935’s Junior Officer. 

“FALLOUT!” The RDCs called in unison. It was clear, strong, and full of a pride that had cultivated over a long six weeks with the recruits currently standing on the sealed, white, floor of the hanger. 

The front row of 936’s division filed out and one by one they climbed the bridge leading to the large, hatch door at the side of the cargo ship, followed by the first line of 935’s. Matt’s line had stepped up to the platform before Shiro’s row had come up in the height line and he could see his friend look over his shoulder briefly as he walked along the grated steel of the platform. Shiro offered a smile and a confident nod. Matt returned it before setting his eyes forward and stepping into The GSS with a purposeful motion. 

Shiro felt Vinning shift and followed him on his way to the ramp. He followed his fellow recruits past the podium where Captain Iverson stood with four RDCs. He looked to Jones out of the corner of his eye and a bright smile had lifted along his dark features.

“Go get ‘em, Golden Boy.” Jones teased from his spot beside Iverson, who only seemed to narrow his eyes at Shiro in response.

“Roger that.” Shiro replied with a smile, before stepping up onto the first platform. 

This was it. 

-

As recruits stepped through the hatch they were asked what their potential rate was as a way to streamline the jobs that they would be taking on for the rest of the day and into the next morning. Cargo Pilots were kept with the majority of the “crew” made up of the two, combined, divisions. They were told to go to the Bridge as they would be “piloting” the ship they were all living on for the next twenty four hours. 

Aside from pilots they had Damage Control rates which meant that at some point on the ship there was bound to be some sort of simulated fire- which made Shiro’s skin crawl. Granted everything was under some level of control by the proctors, but it was still a nerve wracking sensation to know that some of the same guys that needed to be taught how to shave were in charge of making sure they didn’t all burn to death in space. 

Vinning stepped through and Shiro took his practiced pause just outside of the hatch as they ran through the steps he’d heard a hundred times by that point.

“Rate?” Asked a Junior Officer with a tablet balanced on his forearm. He looked bored, rightfully so if this was his post for the rest of the exercise. 

“Material Acquisition.”

The first time Shiro had heard that rate his eyes had gone wide. It sounded, important, devious almost, like it had some sort of secret meaning. The reality, as Vinning later explained, was that his rate was basically a glorified version of a go-between. His job would consist of him floating out of whatever ship he was stationed with, attached to a tether cord, and either guide the systems through a refueling, or orchestrate the exchange of supplies between his ship and whatever cargo ship had made rounds. 

The Junior Officer paused, sliding his pointer finger down the length of his tablet screen. 

“6-18-2-A. Your crew down there is complete. Let the Officer down there know.”

“Yessir.” Vinning saluted, a long wisp of arm obstructing Shiro’s view of the inside of the ship for a moment. 

As Vinning stepped away Shiro stepped forward; “Fighter pilot,” 

Another glance at the tablet.

“02-1-0-F.”

“Yessir,” Shiro saluted, dropped it, and continued his way through the quarterdeck to the first set of stairs, against the right side, of the narrow hallway, that looked as if it ran the entire length of the ship. 

He could see Vinning stepping through the hatch doors that intermittently cut the hallway into sections, ducking his head in order to avoid slamming it into the hard metal skeleton of the cargo ship. 

Cargo Class Ships (CCS) were often bare boned because, outside of the personnel that maintained it, they were nothing more than expensive stock rooms. The pilot didn’t need too many tools in their belt outside of orchestrating landing and in-orbit refueling. Ship maintenance was handled by Mechanics and any emergency situations were handled by Damage Control rates. Some cargo ships held fuel for the ships that still used it to run, but those were becoming few and far between. More typically they held precharged battery stations to supply in-transit ships with the next battery load to get them to their destination. They were the lumbering blue whales of outer space, slow, calm, and low maintenance. Until they weren’t. The reason behind the compartmentalizations with the hatch door system was because fires on a cargo ship were a big problem. They needed to be contained quickly and effectively due to the fact, that with the current form of battery the Garrison used, should they catch fire there was no way to put them out. The only protocol was to lock it down and wait for it to burn out. There was a case where a cargo ship had a battery fire that lasted for longer than forty days. Essentially the crew was evacuated and the ship was left to burn, caught in Venus’ orbit, until the sensors inside the adjacent rooms no longer reported a heat signature on the walls. 

Personnel Class Ships (PCS) were much more uptight. They were sleek and streamlines on the outside. In place of the gunmetal gray framing for walls they were crafted with a smooth, clean, polymer. The hallways ran uninterrupted and were often spacious and grandiose. They were made for comfort because the crew aboard them was often going to be living there for months at a time. These were the sort of ships that scientist were brought aboard in order to collect samples or conduct studies off world. The ships were smaller and required less maintenance due to how much technology had been applied to automate almost everything. The pilot was responsible for the majority of ship maintenance (the argument being how can you fly something effectively if you don’t know it inside and out), but typically their engineer was in charge of system checks. The scientists were contracted civilians, but they were often put on a crash course for how to deal with emergency situations they could encounter. 

Fighter Class Ships (FCS) were another story completely. They ran on the same amount of manpower as a personnel ship would have, but they were for temporary use. The gadgets they were equipped with were at the frontier of tech and cost more than their lives. There was extensive training involved before even stepping foot in an actual FCS. The Engineers needed to be the best of the best and the Communication Specialists needed to be sharp as tacks- only the top 5% of either rate were slotted in Fighter Class billets. All of the rest were often placed on off-world basses, planet stations, or ran the bridge of Cargo Ships. The pilots were under the most amount of scrutiny. The Galaxy Garrison was well aware they were putting some very expensive equipment into the hands of kids not even old enough to drink yet in some cases. So, in order to counteract that anxiety, the schooling and testing curriculum was grueling. The only job that a fighter class pilot had was to go in, fire some very expensive equipment, and get out. They provided aid for personnel more often than anything else considering the turf war had died down, but every once in a while there was always a nasty surprise- and they needed to be ready for that.

Shiro’s foot hit the landing for the floor above the main deck, his eyes followed the metal plating with the compartment numbers engraved in clean lines. He’d made his way to the front of the ship, taking a second staircase to the deck above, and stood with a gaggle of fellow recruits gathered about in the hall.

“Is this...where we stand or…?” He asked quietly, receiving a few shrugs in return.

A sandy brown mop of hair shifted , cloture to the front of the group, and beneath the veil of overgrown bangs was a familiar pair of amber colored eyes.

“Takashi?!”  
“Matt?” Shiro called in a half whisper through the crowd, somehow still needing verification of who was a currently weaving their way through the sea of bodies. 

Matt slid between the last two recruits and a wide smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he looked up at his friend. Shiro blinked, his mind still playing catch up as it ran through the probability of him and Matt finding themselves at the same section for battlestations. Realistically it wasn’t all that much of a stretch. If they were sending recruits here based on rates that would have been working together the fact that a pilot and an engineer ended up in the same place wasn’t a real curveball in the great scheme of things. 

“Do you know what’s going on? No one back here seems to know…” Shiro turned his attention to the front of the group. He could see a Senior Officer jutting their tablet pen at a few recruits before sending them into a compartment three at a time.

“Yeah,” Matt grinned now, seemingly very pleased with something Shiro knew nothing of, “they’re picking crews for FCSs. Which meeeeans~?”

“...”

“Which means you’re a pilot. _I’m_ an engineer and that guy is your Communications Specialist,” Matt jutted his thumb to a very familiar buzzed head; Jackson.

Now he could see where this was going.

“Jackson!” Shiro hissed into the middle of the crowd, “Jackson!”

His division mate shifted, looking from side to side in an attempt to try and pin down who it was trying to get his attention, the confusion on his face growing more and more evident. Another quiet hiss of his name, however, and Jackson looked over his shoulder to find Matt and Shiro beckoning him to the back of the crowd with wild hand gestures. There was a moment or two where they’d lost visual (Jackson was shorter than Matt by an inch or two.), but he eventually pushed his way through the last line of curious recruits. 

“Hey, Holt,” he exchanged a soft fist bump with Matt, before turning to smile up at Takashi, “What’s up Shiro? Y’all ready for this?”

“Twenty four hours, locked in a ship, where everything is designed to go wrong, with you gentlemen?” Matt gave a thumbs up, the excited energy barely being held at bay.

“I’m still trying to figure out exactly what we’re ready for.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re in the back with the giants, bro. They explained it earlier. So, uh...let’s see. This is what I got so far, “Jackson rubbed the back of his neck, knocking loose the beads of sweat that had been glistening against dark skin in flecks of reflected light, “We’re all getting divided up by rates or whatever- who we’d be working with if we were actually stationed on y’know....a real ship with a mission. This is where fighter crews would be at. They keep our barracks close to the bay ‘cause if shit goes wrong we need to be _out_ ”

Jackson’s jerked a thumb over his shoulder for emphasis.

“Anyways...shit is going to go wrong. We’re all just along for the ride man, but cool part is we get to play a dumbed down version of a simulator...when we’re not...you know patching up mess- and uh...bracing for impact.” 

He shrugged, coming to the end of his recap of what it was Shiro had missed. There didn’t seem to be much instruction, but maybe that was the point. They’d already been directed on the basics, from first-aid to basic ship repairs, through training sessions in bootcamp. 

Maybe battlestations was a legitimate sink or swim.

“Rates?” The Senior Officer had made it back to the three of them, the tablet pen now brandished at Matt with a bored lull. 

“Engineer.”  
“Communications Specialist”  
“Pilot.”

The officer’s eyebrows raised, before he shrugged and marked down the names on their uniform tags.

“Easy. You three. That compartment. Remember where the bay is located on a cargo ship. Get to your fighter. Do your jobs.”

“Yessir.” In practiced unison. 

The Senior Officer waved them on with a lazy roll of his wrist, before moving to check the keypads on each of the compartments that had already housed teams. The three recruits exchanged looks caught somewhere in between excitement and dread, before heading off to the assigned compartment. The door slid open as they stepped in front, releasing a rush of cooler air, and they stepped inside.

“Man, get out of here…” came a breathless exclamation as Jackson stepped over to the bunks that lined the right side of the small compartment.

It was barely wide enough to fit the three of them side by side. Three level bunks clung to wall, fastened by thick bolts. At the back of the compartment was a desk, with a lamp, and a heavy metal chair. The right side of the compartment had a framed map of the entire cargo ship. They’d split it down the middle, from front to back, placing each side of the cargo ship on display as open halves.

Matt had stepped up to the map, trailing a finger along the labeled sections until he’d found where the fighter bay was located. Shiro had set to pushing the head of the desk lamp from side to side in an easy swing.

“This is...crazy...is anyone else...kind of freaked out by how detailed this whole thing is?” Matt looked over his shoulder at his new crew members. 

“...they bothered with decorating...which is...weird…” Shiro replied quietly, leaving the lamp to swing on it’s own until it came to stop. 

“So, what we ju-“

_WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!_

The blast of an ear piercing alarm burst through the bullhorn speaker mounted in the corner of their compartment. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?” Matt yelled from his place in front of the ship map.  
“AN ALARM! Shiro replied with a smirk, only for that smirk to widen as Matt offered a raised middle finger in reply.

_1-11! 1-11! WAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!”_

“BRACE FOR IMPACT!” Jackson shouted, remembering the code from the nights he and Shiro had sat awake quizzing each other over the ironing board.

The three of them rushed to the map wall, spread their legs, and placed their palms flat against the cool metal. Shiro looked to Jackson who had his mouth open and his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him like he’d been staring fear in the face. Matt-

“OPEN YOUR MOUTH!” Shiro was met with a confused look, “YOUR TEETH!”

Matt’s eyes went wide with realization and in that instant the floor beneath their feet made a wild sweep- down, right, upwards, before peeling back again.

Shiro could feel the vibrations in the metal wall rampaging against the soft meat of his palms. His knees shook with the effort it took to ride out the motion of what would have been the cargo ship suffering some kind of major damage to the hull. His eyes had been squeezed shut as he fought with all his might against the instinct to bite down. His ears were ringing as the bullhorn speaker burst out two lines of codes.

“Man, what the hell!? It’s just starts like that!?” He heard Jackson shout into the reverberating metal. 

This was insane. There’d been no warning, but in a real situations maybe there wouldn’t be either.

 _6-05! WAAAAAAAAAA-!_ Hostile vessel.

He opened his eyes, not moving from his place against the wall, but this time Matt wasn’t standing beside him. 

_DC-6-2-3-F! WAAAAAAAAAA-!_ < Damage Control, Deck 6, Fuel Room. 

Probably a fire. 

“MATT!?” He tried to shout over the ring in his ears, but his voice sounded muffled and far away, “HOLT!” He corrected himself, realizing there were no first names when they were a crew.

“I’m good, I’m good!” It came from behind. 

Shiro turned to look over his shoulder and Matt had been knocked flat on his backside, his palms braced against the floor beneath him. The sheepish smile he offered was still intact, which meant he must have opened his mouth in time. 

“We gotta head to the FCSs, guys.” Jackson lifted his palms from the wall, looking between Holt and Shiro (who had stepped over to help Matt to his feet.)

“Yeah…” Shiro couldn’t believe how quickly everything had taken a turn, he could feel the ship rocking beneath their feet, and smoke had started to pour through the ventilation system in bellows, “follow me.”

Matt and Jackson nodded, a resolve behind their eyes that hadn’t been there before. Shiro understood he felt the steady calm of survival and training slide into place. Their shipmates were counting on them. If this had been more than a wildly convincing simulation their lives would have depended on each other. Matt, Jackson, and himself would not be the weakest link. 

Shiro stepped in front of sliding door and waited for the flash of a green light and the slide of the door. A beat passed, then a second, and he could feel the panic rising in his chest. He pressed the door override code into the keypad, which should have opened the door if it was on automatic lock down do to a fire situation. Another beat- nothing.

This wasn’t something…

“I got it.” Holt stated, sliding past Shiro, before plucking the plastic cover of the keypad off. 

Jackson and Shiro watched on in silence as Matt started to separating the wiring inside. The pair exchanged looks, both of them impressed with the fact that not everything looked a mess of colored string to Matt as it did to them. They never covered anything like this in bootcamp. At the most they’d been taught the override code. Neither one of them was sure where Matt would have had that sort of knowledge.

“How do you….” Shiro started slowly, watching his friends fingers single out a wire.

“I don’t,” Matt smiled sheepishly over his shoulder, his finger curling around a single wire, “...just a guess.”

He yanked the wire in one swift motion and sharp, crackle shot through their compartment. Everything was still for a moment and then the door slid open, allowing a large pillow of black smoke to pour into the room.

“Wha-!?” Matt stumbled back from the door in surprise.  
“Geez what the frick!?” Jackson exclaimed, stepping back behind Shiro.

Shiro had started to take a deep breath to ward off the tightness in his chest as the black smoke consumed them, but whatever they used to recreate it burned just as much as real smoke. He winced, his lungs sending him a shot of pain in protest, and his eyes burned- water raising at the corners. Fight or flight had started to seat itself deep into his mind. 

He needed to think. 

_Be calm. You have all the tools to handle this. Slow down and_ think.

“Cover your nose and mouth with your shirts,” there it was,”Grab a hold of each other. We can just feel our way towards the bay. Just- keep an eye on the compartment numbers if you see any so we know we’ve got it right.”

Matt coughed behind him, but Shiro could feel him shifting to pull the collar of his shirt up. Jackson’s shadow shifted as he reached forward to ball his hands in the fabric at Matt’s shoulder. Shiro felt Matt’s fingers bump into his upper back, before sliding their way to his shoulder in blind navigation.

“Ready?  
“Ready, Shiro.” Came Matt and Jackson’s reply.  
“Here we go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just notes; I’m really excited for battlestations. Part 1 was mostly the set up for it. I’m excited for the action writing for part two because it’s going to be great fun. Maybe a little discourse? Maybe a little drama between Matt and Shiro that I am (maybe a little too) excited about. Then it’s onto The Garrison chapters! I’m excited for Matt and Shiro bonding, some easy going shenanigans, and eventually Keith’s introduction. 
> 
> Whew man!


	5. Upward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battlestations Final Part

The hallways were filled with a suffocating smoke. Shiro continued forward, in the directions of the hanger that held the FCSs, with the pads of his fingers dragging along the rough metal bulkhead. Here and there his finger nail with catch on the lip of one of the oversized bolts that held it all together or clatter over the smooth surface of the keypads for various compartments. Matt’s fingers pressed into the meat of Shiro’s shoulder, her could feel the half moons of his nails against his skin. The feet shuffling behind him were tentative in their footfalls, but sure in direction. His team trusted him to get them where they needed to go in order to get through battlestations and onto their lives as cadets in The Galaxy Garrison. 

“Swing a left.” Matt called forward, over the the babbling of other voices that swam through the sea of smoke around them. 

Someone down the section of hall behind them had been shouting, trying to get some sort of order between his group of three, and girl further ahead had been whispering quiet encouragement to her team. He could hear someone from Damage Control sweeping through compartments, declaring them as clear of personnel, before tapping along the keypad to lock it down. He could hear the medic rates clamoring over what must have been a part of their sections battlestations test. 

It felt like a hive of bees was being smoked out around them. Flashes of bodies passing by pulled his attention away from the bulkhead in front of him in intermittent busts, but he pushed on, turning left at the mouth of the hallway. A cargo ship was confusing to navigate- the halls looked the same save for the plated compartment numbers above the doors. It was more confusing with only an inch or two past fingertips to use for navigation. 

Something collided with Matt behind him, the soft sound of impact half silent in the chorus of noise around them. Shiro’s hand snapped up, his finger laying across the soft skin on the back of Matt’s hand.

“You okay? What happened?”

Matt groaned, shifting his weight against Shiro’s shoulder.

“I’m pretty sure I just got shouldered by somebody. It’s fine. Just...kind of annoying.”

“I think it’s another pilot…” Jackson chimed in, but he sounded uneasy, “Are we going the right way?”

“Yeah, I’m watching the plaques.” Matt replied, there was another shift of weight against Shiro’s shoulder, beneath his hand.

The patter of feet on the opposite side of the hall from another group stumbling by had Shiro straining to hear anything they might be saying. There were mumbles, similar to his own group, with questions of if they were headed the right way or not. That was two groups now that had been heading down the right side of the hall. Matt’s hand shifted beneath his own and Shiro dropped his hand back down to his side.

“Sorry.” He mumbled awkwardly. 

“No worries,” came Matt’s easy reply, “but can we start moving before we fail this thing?”

“Forward?”

“Yes. _Forward_.” Matt bit out, beginning to run out of patience for his team to second guess him- especially when Takashi knew him better than Jackson. 

“Just making sure I’m following you,” Shiro replied, starting forward with an gentle step.

“Yeah, communication, I get it.” Matt’s voice sounded a less bitter, like the edge of being second guessed twice had already started to waver. 

Shiro had heard that tone in Matt’s voice when he’d been met with a rule or a situation that had no logical reasoning, or when a system was put into place that was only hindering any sort of progress. When their recruiters had tried to convince him to sign on as a Communications Specialist, after seeing how high he had scored on the programming and technology section of the admissions test, Matt had been more than happy to oblige. It was an area where he truly thrived and Shiro could see the fire light in his eyes when he’d been set on specialized proficiency tests. It would have been a rate that Matt would have blown out of the water- until he’d asked about stations that CSs occupied. Other than assisting pilots, the majority of Communications Specialist were glorified secretaries, pushing emails between commands, or presenting mission details with what essentially was glorified slideshows. He’d argued for hours about how they had Information Specialists for that. That the Garrison spent all of that time training people for that specific job, but somehow they bled Communication Specialist into that umbrella too? It was a waste of money on the Garrison’s part. It wasted time and training on his part and Matt was already over the idea before the ink had been set to paper. 

That tone, the tone he used to argue with recruiters for over an hour, came to Shiro loud and clear. It hurt to be on the receiving side of that. He couldn’t tell if it was the stress of their current situation that had his friend so completely unsympathetic to why he and Jackson might be on edge. That he didn’t seem to understand it wasn’t that they questioned his ability it was just that- 

That the last two groups they came across were heading in the other direction. 

“Don’t stress about it, Takashi.” Matt’s voice filter through the smoke, quiet, apologetic, “just trust me on this.”

“Of course. You got it.” He wanted to apologize again, but this wasn’t the time. They were likely on a timer for how long it took them to make it to their rates designated job. 

Shiro had a tendency to micro manage, not because he didn’t trust people, but mostly because he had his own issues with feeling like there wasn’t any control. For whatever reason that unpleasant...habit...was met with a hypervigilance. That meant a lot of checking, double checking, and even then never being truly satisfied until everything was said and done. Matt knew that. He’d seen Shiro taking the multiple choice tests and getting increasingly frustrated with the fact that he knew all of the information, but none of the answers provided fit that. 

Matt eventually convinced him to just pick “the best” answer- which helped...but...

He needed to get out of his head and back on the move, fully focused. 

The hand on his shoulder gave a light squeeze and the reassurance pushed him forward another step. His fingers blindly navigated bumps and ridges in a concentrated silence, with Matt calling out a direction from behind him. 

He wasn’t sure of the actual distance or exactly how much time had passed. His nose was starting to burn where the ridges of his uniform shirt had been rubbing, his eyes had been watering so ferociously that the salt streaks in the skin of his cheeks had started to itch. He could hear a gravel in Matt’s voice that seemed to be getting worse. Jackson kept shifting to wipe his eyes against the fabric of his uniform sleeve, trying to keep the tears from soaking him down the front. 

“We’ve got one more turn here, left coming up.” Matt’s fingers shifted, loose with the relief that in one turn they would have made it. 

“Got it.” Shiro replied, making the left.

“Yo- hold up, hold up!” It was Jackson.

“Dude, don’t just let go.” Matt’s voice again, but Takashi could barely make out what was happening outside of their silhouettes behind him. 

“Guys someone is on the floor. Is that like...is that for us?” Jackson’s shadow had ducked down and Shiro could see a third form sprawled on the floor. 

“No. It’s probably a proctor for the medics.” Matt ducked down as well and Takashi saw his hand gesturing over the rank and medals on the uniform. 

Shiro turned fully around now, squinting into the burn of smoke, only to find that both Matt and Jackson had been looking up at him for some kind of input. Battle stations had a number of potential rates all acting within the same space. No one would have just been left on the floor like that in such a controlled environment. The fact it was a proctor was clear enough. Matt had followed the first-aid training they’d gone over in the earlier weeks of basic training; noting a pulse, breathing, and “unresponsive.” If everything was a test, even if they were meant to leave the proctor for the medics, it was likely they’d be docked points for just ignoring the body...or they’d be docked points for acknowledging the body since their job consisted of getting to a Fighter in the hanger. They could have been looking for them to act as a team with the rest of the cargo ship, act as a bigger part of a whole. After all, everyone had been trained in first-aid and firemen’s carry. 

Shiro wasn’t entirely sure which was better.

“Do we just leave ‘em then?”

“Yeah, I would. What do you say Shiro?” Matt looked up from his spot on the floor, and Shiro could see him squinting up at him through smoke screened glasses. 

“Uh…” Shiro squinted down the hallway that had gone almost silent as most of the groups headed into compartments for Damage Control, or off to do their assigned jobs. He didn’t hear any medics this way, “...shit…”

“We should take ‘em.” Jackson chimed in.

“No. We should leave him because this isn’t our job. We’re not medics. We’re getting judged on doing _our_ job.” Matt insisted, “not someone else's.”

Shiro could see the pair of heads turn his way again, waiting on an answer.

“We need to take him.” Shiro concluded.

“What!?” Matt pushed up onto his feet, as if the change in height would make it any easier to see through the pillows of smoke. It didn’t. Shiro could barely make out the lines of his face.

“If this was really happening. I’d take him.”

“This _isn’t_ real. _This_ is just a test. With rules.” The tone was back, but beneath it all Shiro could hear the hurt. He tried his best to ignore it, trying his best to keep his head straight. 

“Yeah, maybe the test is we take him.” Jackson agreeing wasn’t helping the mood between him and Matt, but Shiro was glad to know at least one other person agreed with the idea of helping another shipmate. 

“It’s not. That officer told us exactly what to do,” Matt was talking with his hands now, swings of motion were spiriting the smoke around them and he tried to convey his point. The frustration of being unheard, second guessed, between his two teammates starting to fray nerves, “This isn’t a test of morality! It’s a test to see if we can follow direction,Takashi-” 

“Shiro,” He corrected Matt and it was harsh, harsher than he intended,”and we are taking him, Holt. I’m your pilot right now. We need to act as a team. If we’re wrong, we’re wrong together. ”

He’d made the decision already- tried his best not to second guess himself. Matt insisting had only chipped away resolve that Shiro needed to pass this- for them all to pass this. He was trying not to lose points over lost time, over arguing with his shipmates, over not having the lead. It was two against one. If it was the wrong call or not leadership and his shipmates ability to follow direction could save them. 

The silence that passed between them made Shiro shift uncomfortably in his own skin. He could feel Matt’s eyes on him despite the sudden lack of communication. 

“Not to be a pain in the ass, but is anyone gonna help me lift this dude?” Jackson had already set to trying to lift the proctor, who was doing a fantastic job of sandbagging him, up onto a shoulder.

“I got you. Fireman’s carry,” Shiro stated, stepping past Matt to crouch down, “Holt, you lead. I trust you.” He just...wanted to remind him. 

Jackson helped Shiro to guide the Officer over broad shoulders, spotting him as Shiro pushed up onto his feet, adjusting beneath the weight, before holding his free hand out for Matt. Jackson laid a hand on the Officer's boot making sure their line of contact was established. 

Shiro could feel the warm press of Matt’s hand against the palm of his own. He squeezed trying to communicate everything that was threatening to push him into a nervous tail spin, but he pushed it down. He left it in his fingertips and hoped in some way it would bleed through. Leadership roles were exhausting and he was quickly beginning to realize trying to lead your friends was even worse. There were too many factors to consider, too many feelings to consider, and it was hard to stick to your decisions when making one in the middle of a disaster might mean putting a rift between you and the people he was trying to lead, the people he wanted to see get through this more than anything- his friends. 

“Roger that.” Matt’s voice sounded controlled in an unnatural way, then Shiro felt him take a step forward. 

Matt quietly led them to the left turn and Shiro could feel the concentration of smoke lift, wafts of fresher air sweeping in from the high, open, bay ceiling. His shirt had pulled off of his nose due to the weight of the officer on his shoulders, but his lungs breathed in the much lighter air greedily. 

There were simulator pods, far more basic than any model they’d seen in Garrison pamphlets, but Matt had led them straight for the closest one. Shiro gave the bay a once over, finding that none of the other pods had been powered on. They must have been the first ones there. When Matt had been looking at the map he must have found a faster way, which would explain why none of the other recruits had made it to the bay yet. Shiro wanted to say something. He wanted to let Matt know that he did good, that he noticed how clever he’d been- how he came through for the team. 

Matt’s fingers pressed the last three of his identification number into the keypad. There was a high pitched beep and the hatch door of the pod lifted open. They’d practiced simulator procedures before more than likely in preparation for this portion of battle stations. Matt had shifted to step into the pod, but paused, seeming to remember the extra body with them.

“We’ve only got three seats in this thing.” He said with a sigh, turning to look at Shiro and Jackson. 

“There’s a medic station in the bays. That’s where I’ll put him.”

Matt nodded.

“Take Jackson with you in the pod. You guys get it going and do the comm checks. I’ll be right back.”

“Got it.” Jackson replied, letting go of the Officer’s boot and stepping up into the pod.

Shiro shrugged the weight on his shoulders back on center, but didn’t move with the way Matt was still looking at him. It felt like there was something sitting at the tip of his tongue, or he had something to say, but instead he made a hand motion for Shiro to hurry- and he did.

He could hear the slap of his boots against the smooth surface of the fighter bay. The medic station for fighters was always at the far left if you were looking into the bay from the outside. If battlestations was being run, loosely, like a cargo ship in crisis that was where Shiro would find them. Every now and then he could feel the proctor shifting to avoid uncomfortable positions, but otherwise it was almost impressive how committed they’d been. Then again he imagined if anyone wasn’t doing exactly as they were instructed Captain Iverson would be the first one to chew them out. Something Shiro was sure everyone wanted to avoid. 

He’d rounded the half wall of the medic station at such a speed he nearly trampled the medic on duty there.

“Whoa, Shiro?” It was Martinez. He’d been leaned over a table, that housed a proctor cradling an arm, with a clipboard in his hand, “what’s up with that guy?”

Shiro stepped to the second table against the wall, gingerly shifting the officer off of his shoulders, and trying to ignore the way they righted themself. There was something frustrating about having to carry dead weight when you knew they were perfectly capable of walking- even if it was a test.

“We found him in a hallway. Holt already checked pulse and breathing, but they’re _unresponsive_ ,” a part of Shiro wanted someone to let him know if he had made the right choice or not, but even the officer on the table with an “injured” arm had done her best not to seemed phased one way or another. 

Martinez seemed confused, but who could blame him. The majority of recruits running through the halls to get to their respective stations were caught in between panicking over what they were suppose to do and what they thought the proctors were looking for. 

“Okay, got it. That’s priority then. I got it from here, man.”  
“Alright.” Shiro turned to leave, but Martinez grabbed his arm.  
“Breathe dude. You got this.”

Shiro fell still, panic in his chest over how he had been handling things,Matt’s reaction, and the _need_ to pass this thing must have been showing more than he originally thought. 

“...yeah...thanks man,” he nodded, “you too, Martinez.”

Martinez smiled, plugging the buds of his stethoscope into his ears, before turning away from Shiro and running through whatever his rate’s protocol was for unresponsive patients. Shiro didn’t spend much more time there finding out. Instead he bolted across the dusty floor, his boots squeaking as he turned around the nose of his pod. The rest of the fighter pilots had made it by now. Matt had managed to get them ahead by a minute or two, which would have looked good- had he not needed that time to drop off some non-essential weight. 

Shiro had a bad feeling he made a wrong call and it sat low in his stomach as he dropped into the pilot seat.

“Are we ready?” He called over his shoulder.

“It’s mostly automated. We never went over training outside of how to talk over comms and basic repair,” Matt had taken his seat for the engineers, which meant that Shiro couldn’t see his face without turning around, “that’s more a-school stuff.” 

“Yeah, half of these knobs don’t even work...not that I know how to use them at this point. Try to start it up, Shiro.”

The lighting in the front of pod glowed a dim blue when Shiro pressed his finger against the ignition switch. The screen at the front of the pod lit up and in neat, white text, on black instructions rolled through. Essentially it was a “paper” test. Shiro could hear Jackson groaning into the monitors on his side of the pod. Questions would appear on their screens relevant to the jobs they would be sitting in a real situation and for the first time Shiro could feel himself breathe. Paper tests had only one right answer it would be the least stressful event in battlestations so far. 

The pod fell silent. Every few moments he could hear Jackson chuckling over a question on his monitor or Matt tsk-ing at something on his. Shiro followed through his own exam, confident in most of his answers, or choosing the best guess on one or two. 

The final question pulled up onto the screen, but the answers never loaded.

“Hey...anyone else frozen on the last question?” Matt looked over to Jackson, angling himself in his seat to get a look at his screen.

“Yeah…” Shiro replied, uneasy, before craning his neck to get a visual on Jackson to his right, “what do you think I that’s about?”

“...I wonder if its waiting…” Jackson looked up from his monitors, nervously looking between Shiro and Matt, “I’m just thinking man...the only thing we haven’t dealt with yet is ship repair….and….uh….”

“Firearms?” Matt half laughed, until he checked the sides of his chair,”....oh _what?_ ”

He tapped the blaster beside him, thoroughly amused, and Shiro could see Jackson’s hands drop down to the holster set into the station holding the monitors. He removed a blaster from its seat, before slipping it back in, and looking to Shiro.

“Do you have one?!”

Shiro looked down beside his chair and there, tucked into the metal cage holster was his own blaster. He’d noticed the front end was shaped differently and upon further inspection the actual barrel had been replaced with a flat screen.

“...OOOH, nice!” This time Matt sounded almost giddy, “Laser tag.”

He must have noticed the modification as well and a wide smiled pulled at Shiro’s lips. The momentary pause in all of the action was welcomed and for a moment he sat in it comfortably.

“Hey, Holt.”  
“Yeah, Shiro?”  
“Good job, with finding the bay. I noticed we made it here first.”  
“Yeah, well, a lot of good that did with your savior complex in full swing.”

Shiro felt his chest drop, not entirely ready to have that thrown back at him, but when he turned around to look at his engineer, Matt had a wide grin on his face. Shiro laughed, the relief of it all too much to have caught in his chest. 

“...asshole…” it fell from Shiro’s lips a chuckle and he held a middle finger over his shoulder as he turned around to face forward.

“You love it.”

The high pitched whine of alarms flooded their ship as it was bathed in the intermittent red flash of the warning light. The pilot screen flashed damage warnings and the door of the pod popped open on its own. The three of them exchanged looks, slowly moving to unbuckle their seatbelts, and grabbing a hold of the blasters supplied in the pod.

Shiro stood up from his seat, ducking his head in order to avoid slamming it into the ceiling. He made his way to the back of the pod with Matt and Jackson meeting him in the middle. 

“I got the repairs.” Matt offered, “I’ll bring the tool box. Worst case I can use that as cover.”

“We’ll cover you.” Shiro nodded, before looking to Jackson, “I’ll head out first, you follow behind me, Matt goes last. We just need to shield him long enough that he can get himself and tool box out. Then we can stand guard.”

“Right,” Jackson nodded, “got it.”

Shiro stepped forward, lifting his blaster, and aiming it out of the pod door. Despite the smoke the bay had been well lit before, but now it was a deep purple in color. It was nearly impossible to make out any sort of shapes as the shadows seemed to get swallowed up into the glow. His eyes strained for purchase as he stepped through the threshold. Jackson’s boots clanked on the metal ramp behind him and shortly after that Shiro could hear the roll of the tool box that sat strapped next to the door of most fighter ships. 

He looked ahead, keeping his peripheral on Matt in order to make sure he was in position enough to protect him in case whatever, or whoever, shot them down was lurking in the fighter bay. There was a flash of a Senior Officer’s uniform off to their left and Shiro swiveled to train the blaster in that direction. He watched in silence as the crew from the pod further down the line sent two people out with blasters and no tool box. They must have been checking to see what needed repair before bothering with a tool box. The Senior Officer was closer to that group, closing in quietly. 

Matt had rolled the box over to the side panel of the pod, a section had popped loose, and it was easy enough to tell that it was where he’d need to be performing repairs. He let the tool box drop back from the roller wheels, setting it flat, before pulling open the top compartment. Shiro watched the Senior Officer, trying his best to not pay them much mind, even as the other group seemed unaware to the danger just outside of their visual. There was a flash, a reflection of the purple bulbs high in the bare ceiling of the bay in the surface of the sensor on their back. Shiro slowly lifted his blaster, aiming for the plate of sensor material, and pulled the trigger.

Instantly the lights on the Senior Officer’s vest flickered and he could hear a confused curse coming from the pod further down. The two recruits spotted the officer just in time as the lights died down on the vest, and together they unloaded enough shots the have them backing off. Shiro could hear the Senior Officer cursing under their breath, it was likely that he wasn’t suppose to be looking out for any officers outside of the ones in their section, but it didn’t seem right to not say anything. Essentially they were all a part of the same crew- they should be beating battlestations together, not competing with eachother. 

Jackson fired this time, hitting an officer that had slipped around the front of their pod. Shiro stepped back, blocking any good vantage points on Matt who had worked the panel door off by now and was deep in his work. A line of red shot out from the purple light around them, bouncing off of the pods exterior. Shiro fired back in the same direction, watching the lights on a vest flash, before they disappeared into cover.

“How’s it going back there?” He called over his shoulder.

“Almost done. Gimme a sec. You can’t rush greatness.” Matt answered, still fully focused in what was in front of him.

“Your left!” Jackson called, jerking his blaster to hit an incoming officer that had slipped in to the left of Shiro. 

“Aaand,” Matt’s voice came from beneath the sound of Shiro and Jackson in an all out fire war with the officers closing in on the pod, “done!”

Matt hopped up onto his feet, quickly lifting the compartments of the tool box and pressing the tools in wherever they would fit at that point. He pushed the tool box forward, stepping between Shiro and Jackson- guarding their group with the metal of the tool box.

“Back up and keep shooting,” he called up, hunching behind the tool box for his own cover, the electronic whirs of the blasters firing above him drowning out most of the sound.

Shiro watched as the last inch of tool box was back into the pod door, along with his team, and hit the pad beside the door once they were inside. It slid shut and, as the soft yellow lights on the inside of the pod pulsed on, they were met with silence again.

Matt laughed, letting to tool box click into its hold beside the door, before turning to high five Jackson and Shiro. Shiro caught his hand, with a “whoop” of lingering adrenaline and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Hooo-ly shit, guys!” Jackson shouted at the top of his lungs, dropping his blaster into the holster beneath his monitors and threw his hands in the air, “that was insane!!”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Shiro replied, breaking away from the hug, before resting his hands on his hips, “Man, that was a rush and half. Even if it’s was just lasers.”

“There was an actual busted pipe in there. I had to sleeve it and everything,” Matt held his arms up, trying to get a good look at his sleeves that were now covered in some sort of Hollywood prop liquid, “look at this.”

“Wow…” Jackson said breathlessly, leaning forward at the waist.  
“They really go all out with this don’t they…”  
“Yeah, I guess,” Matt shrugged with a smile, rolling up his sleeves to try and avoid the mess. 

-

The time limit for the fighter simulator pods had eventually run its course. The three of them had spent the remainder of the time sitting in the cabin of the pod, talking about bootcamp and assembly. They raved about how excited for graduation they were and theorized what the rest of battlestations might be like. It was easy and comfortable- a pocket in the chaos where they breathed a little easier and the stress of leading melted from Shiro’s shoulders. They were his friends again, instead of his crew, and it was a relief to see how quickly he and Matt slid back into their rhythm despite the hiccups in the halls earlier. 

The pod door of their fighter popped open, revealing a smoke free bay, with the lights on. It felt much smaller now that he could see the walls without the endless deep purple light. At the end of their ramp was a Junior Officer. He seemed a bit more light hearted than the rest of the officers they had seen since stepping off the bus, but that could have been because this was the best any of them had felt in a while. 

“Alright, recruits. Follow me, I’m taking you through to the next test.”  
“Yessir.” In unison, as always. 

Shiro fell in behind the officer, followed by Matt and then Jackson. As their group walked past the medic station to the back hallway Shiro could see Captain Iverson had been inside, talking with the two officers that Martinez had been tending to. Shiro slowed, if only by a half step, trying to see if he could get a read on what Iverson was doing. He looked furious, but it was likely he always looked that way. The way he was swinging his hands as he spoke didn’t leave him much mercy either. Martinez was standing at attention, his eyes focused forwards, but as Shiro stepped into his line of sight he could swear Martinez nodded his head towards Iverson as heads up.

Shiro frowned, still grasping for a narrative even as they stepped into the hall and the visual on the medic station was lost. 

“Iverson was talking to that officer we picked up…” Jackson said nervously, keeping his voice at a whisper in order to avoid being overheard by the chipper officer. 

“I know…” Shiro replied, trying to keep the dread out of his voice.

“It’ll be fine,” Matt spoke up, patting Shiro on the shoulder, “we got this.”

Shiro knew that to some extent Matt was comfortable enough in his skill to talk himself out of anything that it sometimes afforded him undue confidence. This...may have been one of those times. As smooth as a talker that Matt was Shiro wasn’t all too sure he’d have any sort of power when it came to someone like Iverson. 

-

They would be on watch.

For the rest of battle stations.

Watch was torture, but it was a part of life on bigger ships and every one of them needed to know how to do it properly. The three of them would make rounds, marking down something unusual, or dealing with whatever simulated mishap they were faced with as the hours ticked by. Matt would sometimes activate his comm and sing “Fly Me to the Moon” which, while unprofessional, was never mentioned as being punishable in the handbook. Jackson stayed fairly silent except for check ins. Shiro would sneak in a line or two to Matt’s antics. Eventually they both managed to coerce Jackson into at least one line. 

-

_0500._

As Shiro marked it down on his watch log he could feel his eyes burning with the desire for sleep. His arm was tired from holding the tablet all night and Matt’s tired mumblings of a Billy Joel song had betrayed his exhaustion. Vinning would have appreciated the throwback playlist Matt had provided, but odds were even he was probably too tired at that point to care- even if he did over hear. 

_All recruits. Return to your birthings._

Shiro slowed down, tired eyes looking up to the speaker set in the ceiling, before reading off the compartment plaque over the door closest to him.

“You guys want to walk back together?” Matt’s voice drifted over the line.

Shiro lifted his tablet, the comm link open.

“...Yeah,” he said quietly, trying to will his mind to wake itself up enough to work his way back, “where are you?”

“I’m by the bay…”

“Where the watermelons grow?” Shiro laughed, delirious from the lack of sleep. He was handling it much better than he had the first day.

“Back to my home?” Matt replied, sounding just as amused.

“You dare not go?” He had started to walk back in the directions of the bay, figuring if Matt was at any particular hallway that fed into it, he’d be able to see him.

“For if I do?- I’m across from the medic station by the way.”

“Your mother will say? Got it”

“Matthew Holt how many times have I told you? We do not live in a barn, please close the door behind you before the dog gets out!”

Shiro nearly choked on his own spit, leaning against the bulkhead of the hallway for a moment or two to catch his breath. He could hear Jackson groan a “Do you two ever shut up?” Over the comm link.

He laughed quietly to himself as he navigated his way back to the bay where the fighter pods had been, smiling wide as Matt waved at him from the mouth of the hallway. As he stepped over he found a sandy brown mop of hair planted straight into his chest.

“I’m dying.” Matt breathed into his sternum and Shiro laughed, patting him on the back.

“Almost there.” 

“Ugh. Not there enough.” His engineer cried dramatically, spinning on his heel in order to walk down the hallway towards their birthing. 

Shiro smiled the relief of it almost being over sitting as a warm froth in his chest.

-

They were briefed quickly on how they were to step off of the cargo ship before being dismissed and forming up with their divisions again in from of where Commander Iverson stood. Everyone looked exhausted, even their RDCs were fighting against bloodshot eyes and yawns threatening to spill over their lips. 

“Good job, recruits!” Iverson boomed, looking like he hadn’t missed a second of sleep that night, “you have all passed. You are now; Official Garrison Cadets. You should be very, very proud of yourselves. Some of you carried yourselves well. _Some of you_ need to become very aware of how to follow instructions if you want to make it further in your career.”

Shiro felt his eyes on him before he had fought the nerves back enough to look up. Iverson had been looking at him, his gaze not wavering as he continued.

“You will be given jobs and instructions- that you must follow. I don’t care if you are a favorite, or everyone’s best friend, and if you think that mentality of you are untouchable is going to serve you well in the future? I promise you it won’t.”

Matt made a sound in the division beside him and it pulled Shiro’s attention away before he burned up beneath Iverson’s stare. He looked furious, amber trained on the Commander in front of their group in a way that Shiro wondered how anyone could ignore that amount of energy being directed at them. Matt looked away for a brief moment, just long enough to mouth _ignore him_ before glaring back forward. 

Matt had been right. He’d been right the entire time and Shiro made a call- the _wrong_ call, and here Matt was...still on his side. He felt a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth, before he set his eyes forward again to find Iverson staring right back. The wrinkles in his forehead were forced so deep into his face from the strength his furrowed brow he looked like he was made of stone. Shiro wasn’t sure what he’d done, other than make a mistake, to get on Iverson’s bad side as solidly as he had. Reasonably plenty of of recruits would have made mistakes that night. So..why..?

“Stand-by.” Iverson growled out and he watched as the groups in front of him shifted, filtering into each other and excitedly explaining their tasks for battlestations that night. There were engineers that had been tasked with repairing parts of the actual cargo ship. They had to put on all of the PPE for heading out into the vacuum of space and spider their way around the vessel for repairs. Shiro heard one of the medics going over how they’d needed to carry someone on a stretcher through a trashed compartment. Electrical Engineers were raving about the the battery station and having to fix things from blown out light bulbs to full blown electrical fires. 

Matt had made a straight shot for Shiro.

“Can you believe that!?” He grumbled, swinging a hand towards the front of the group where Iverson was talking to Junior Officer Jones.

“I, uh-“

“What kind of petty crap is that? Seriously? He was looking right at you. Like you didn’t have an entire team doing the exact same thing.”

“It was my call so-“

“No. Don’t do your thing right now. I’m pissed.” Matt held up a finger, scowling, before shaking his hands as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

He walked a circle coming to land right back in front of Shiro.

“And you know what else!?” He continued, “We still made it there before everyone else. What’s the problem? We’re not even fully trained! This is just basic crap! I’m gonna g-“

“Matt.” Shiro caught his friend by the shoulders, effectively stopping his literally spiral into unbridled fury, “Calm down. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Matt huffed, swatting Shiro’s hands away.

“Shiro!”

Matt turned along with him to see who had called his name from the front of the group and Junior Officer Jones had been beckoning him over with a hand. Whatever he had been discussing with Iverson must have taken a lot out of him. He looked frustrated and exhausted. Shiro nodded, making his way to the front where his RDC stood and Commander Iverson leered. He could hear Matt following behind him, silently hoping that he would just break away once Shiro made it out of the sea of recruits, but of course the footsteps followed him right up to his superiors.

Jones looked confused, trying to figure out why Matt had come along, but pushed forward. He held a hand out, a silent introduction to Iverson. Shiro snapped to attention with a salute.

“Sir.”

“Recruit, would you like to explain why, as a pilot, you are picking up injured crew?” Iverson leaned in, his body heat crowding Shiro where he stood.

“Yessir. I thought it to be the best course of action.”

“You could be failed for interfering with your shipmates testing. Do you understand that?”

“I do now sir.” He replied, ignoring the way his heart seemed to skip a few rotations before getting back on track. 

“With all due respect sir, if that were a real scenario, Shiro made the right call.” It was Matt’s voice and Shiro felt his shoulder drop in exasperation. 

Jones held a hand out towards Matt in agreement. He must have been arguing the same thing on Shiro’s behalf and a part of him was flattered that someone else cared about his career enough to speak up, but another part wished he could just crawl into a hole. It would have been easier to just get yelled at and graduate then possibly risk pissing Iverson off enough that he rained down consequences. 

This was going to be an argument.

“Recruit are you a part of this conversation?” Iverson narrowed his eyes at Matt and Shiro could feel Matt’s rebuke before he even opened his mouth.

“Sir, I couldn’t help, but overhear,” the corner of Matt’s lip shook with the effort it took him to keep a smirking, “there’s no way for us to know who that officer was suppose to be. They could have been mission essential. There was also no way for us to know what was wrong with them. What if he didn’t have the time to wait for the medics?”

“And what if it was a neck injury?” Iverson retorted, despite having the rank to shut them all down with a single word, “your shipmate here had him lobbed over his shoulders.”

“Was it a neck injury?” Matt stared right back.

Jones looked thoroughly amused, crossing his arms over his chest, and raising both of his eyebrows. Judging by how tickled he seemed with the whole situation he must have already known the answer to that. Shiro could feel the sweat sliding down the back of his neck as he stood at attention trying to silently plead his case as being a reasonable person amidst his friend and RDCs lack of respect for rank. 

A deep red spread out beneath Iverson’s features, the anger he was holding back beginning to manifest through the physiological efforts it took to keep it as controlled as possible. 

“It was not. However, that doesn’t explain why your friend here took it on himself to fire on another group’s firearms proctor.”

“Sir,” Shiro finally had a moment to use his own voice, “I figure if we are stationed on the same ship then we are collectively a crew. If we are only looking out for our small groups- it just didn’t seem right to watch shipmates in danger and not do anything about it, Sir.” 

Jones nodded his head, motioning again with his hand and Iverson fixed him with a look. Shiro stood still, feeling the power shift between the four of them as Iverson seemed to cool off in the face of reason. It was possible he could still make it out of this as a cadet. He just needed to let Iverson feel like he had the power here, which he did when it came down to it, and see reason. 

Jones looked like he’d dealt with Iverson’s temper enough that it merely amused him by now. Matt was forever a shit starter because despite how meek he was in stature he knew all too well that his strength lied in his intelligence, cunning, and the fact he could always argue himself out of the worst of situations. 

“We _are_ all a team in the end. The medics had 100% accountability, his shipmates didn’t get shot, and they did make it to their pod at the same time as everyone else.”Junior Officer Jones offered and Iverson made a face, clearly fighting with himself to keep his cool in the face of their combined logic. 

“Alright,” he conceded, although he didn’t seem too pleased about it, “this time we let it slide. Your choices weren’t wrong enough-“

“They weren’t wrong at all.” Matt grumbled under his breath, but either Iverson hadn’t heard or chose to ignore it.

“-to warrant any repercussions, _BUT_ ” Iverson took a moment to read over Shiro’s name tag, “ _Shirogane_. You won’t always be able to talk yourself out of repercussions when you’re leading a real team. And you won’t always have your….buddies…”

He gave Jones a pointed look.

“...to back you up.”

“Yessir. I understand.” Shiro stayed at attention, waiting for the salute to signal his dismissal. He’d spent the majority of basic training wishing that people could just pronounce his last name correctly instead of falling back on a nickname, but now he wasn’t sure he liked hearing his full name if it was going to sound like that…

Like a warning.

...like a threat…

“Recruits.” Iverson saluted. 

Shiro and Matt returned the salute, before slipping back into the crowd. Matt looked excited, ready to be official cadets in the morning, but Shiro was all too aware that he’d be stepping into his role as Galaxy Garrison Cadet with a target on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ON TO THE GARRISON! I think I’m going to start posting separate works, being set in the Middle!Universe. I kind of want to just drop in shorter snippets of Shiro/Matt moments here and there for fun. (Probably some fluff one off bits.) I think it’d be easier if I organized it that way.
> 
> I’m new to using AO3- so if any of you out there have suggestions for that let me know what you think! :D 
> 
> And if you’ve got any request or certain moments you want realized I’m 100% down to provide that for ya! You can always hit me up on my tumblr @paternaltendencies!
> 
> Anyways! Thank you as always for the support! :]


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